Fanfiction  Mount and Blade: The Royal Protector
by Benedict Hardy
Summary: Jose Tongue, a bard, tells the story of a great hero and his journey full of dangers to defeat a highly dangerous and secret enemy. A tale full of death, sadness and glory! already finished, just needs editing before I put it all up
1. Chapter 1

Ok, this is the first chapter of a fanfiction I have already written but will be putting up bit by bit on I originally began this to be shown purely on the forums of TaleWorlds ( or forums. It was updated daily over a period of about six weeks, and was very roughly based in the world of Mount & Blade, although none of the events in the story ever occur in the game, and Harlaushia is only ever briefly mentioned in the game, the main focus being on the land of Calradia, where (at the time I wrote the story) two kingdoms, the Vaegirs and the Swadians were having a huge war, with the Khergits (basically Mongols) featuring briefly as bandits.

All the character names and all the events are purely my own creations and the original version can be found at http://forums. The names Calradia, Vaegirs, Swadians, Khergits and Harlaushia are all © 2001-2007 Taleworlds Entertainment

All the characters and events in this story are © Benedict Hardy 2007 and cannot be reproduced on any website other than or without the prior, written permission of the author and all the credit due to him being **clearly** shown alongside the story.

Ok, now all the legal stuff is out of the way, feel free to email me or PM me to ask if you can host this fanfic on another site. It's unlikely that I'll refuse.

Now, onto the actual story. I'm afraid that when I originally wrote it I was under harsh time constraints and it was my first extended piece of fiction ever. So the paragraphing is dodgy and the speech is hard to understand because of horrible spacing between each speech line. Hopefully it won't decrease from your reading pleasure too much!

That's all I can think of to say apart from: Any comments are welcome, please post critcism, praise, suggestions and corrections. Hell, even flames can be helpful to knock the author's ego down a few pegs (although I won't be responding to flame messages, so don't hope to get any reaction from me)

Anyhow, on with the story!

* * *

**July 9th: Episode 1**

Since I was born I've always been able to sense people with great stories behind them, great destinies before them. It's an intuition, a sixth sense of mine. I might be walking down the road one day, and see a young man with a certain gleam in his eye, or a manner of gait that shows me that he has seen something that others never will. Other times I see someone who walks and talks in such a way that I know that someday their ways will lead them to greater exploits, grand things.

And yet strangely, the person who told me the greatest story of all, I couldn't see, I would walk past him day by day and yet never notice anything that would make me wonder about him, which could make me ask him what had happened in his life.

But I forget myself; allow me to tell you who I am, my name is Jose Tongue, bard by profession. I get my stories from those who I meet on the road, and believe me, some of the stories I hear are so much more fantastical than those I make up. But the one I'm thinking of telling tonight is perhaps the best I've ever heard.

As I was saying a moment back, this story was one that I found by chance, off a man who you would least expect to harbour one. He was hardly rich, and certainly didn't have the looks of an adventurer, and I'm sure there's a good reason for that, but his story began in such a way that as I sat in a tavern, drinking last night's earnings, I immediately picked it up as the story that would make tomorrow's.

It began like this, on a sunny day, strangely enough, in a room of a rich castle with velvet curtains and a crackling fireplace, warding off the cold of the outside. The last snows of winter were melting, and winds blew the last snow clouds hard to the north. A young lady sat… entertaining… her master, with what skills she had. They huddled together close to the fire, neither of them speaking. Holding her closely, the man was in fact paying little to no attention to her, for him every moment of his thoughts was an agony of waiting.

But soon his wait was at an end, and a scream outside his room brought him to reality. The door shuddered, and the wench in his arms screamed, clinging to him tightly. Standing, he moved to his bed, and slid out a tightly packed bag, dragging the girl with him, he moved towards the window. It was only when the door smashed in with a shower of splinters, and a pair of arrows thudded into the wooden paneling next to him that the man realized just how unprepared he was. The girl struggled, but he held her tightly in front of him, knowing that the men after him would not kill her unless they had no choice. He hadn't gambled on her twisting round and drawing a knife. Kicking out hard, he desperately tried to get her away from him, but he was too late, and her knife stuck into his shoulder, missing his main arteries by millimetres… and so he jumped, smashing backwards through the window behind him.

Had he not been prepared for this he would have died in agony on the frozen soil of his garden, his bones smashed and broken. But he was prepared, and he landed first on a linen canvas, next on a net, and lastly, when both of these had ripped under his weight, he landed in a basin of freezing cold water. Clambering out, he raced towards the stables limping from glass cuts in his legs, and his eyes focusing in and out from the pain of his wounds. But he made it to the relative safety of the stable without getting hit by the arrows from his room, and, dragging his sopping wet pack with him, he mounted his fastest, hardiest horse, and fled… Harlain, prince of Harlaushia had escaped.

**12th July: episode 2**

"Up, up and about, day is broken!" came the waking cry.

The sun shone blinding and strong through the gap in the wooden shutters. His view half obscured by impenetrable darkness, half revealed by strips of dusty sunlight, Benedict awoke groaning. In all his four years at the academy he had never gotten used to the ridiculous waking hours they were forced to follow.

A gentle nudge in the ribs got him awake, and cursing, he rolled over and grabbed his clothing. He dressed slowly, not caring about getting breakfast. It was a hot muggy day, he couldn't eat much anyway, this far south spring had long begun and the warmth of southerly winds brought with them swallows and a respite from the long Harlaushian winters. Seeing Robert already leaving the room, he grabbed his belt and bracers and followed him, leaving the dusty gloom of their chamber behind.

He stepped into the main corridor of the sleeping quarters, passing the rows of rickety doors leading to identical two-man chambers like his own. At the end of the corridor he found himself in the huge hall, weapons of wood, steel and leather were strung in huge rusty racks along the cracked and crumbling plaster walls. At the centre of the room stood a circular, raised, podium where the Master sat eating his breakfast. All around the room were scattered large makeshift tables, covered with steaming pots of oatmeal and baskets full of hard eggs, still glistening and hot from their dip into a massive pot of boiling water in the far corner.

Sitting down next to Robert, Benedict grabbed a plate and scraped the bottom of the bowl of porridge into it.

"So, any news on Sharlan?" he asked casually, munching on the thick paste.

"Aye, his father was here a few days back" replied Robert, his accent unmistakably Calradian. "He's in the military or something, got himself some snooty job back in tactical command" Benedict chortled through his mouthful

"Makes you wonder what he bothered spending five years training here for…" they continued to speak, wolfing down the last of their meal.

"Clear up" came a shout from the Master's podium. Boys of all ages who only seconds ago had been seated eating happily were now rushing about busily, the youngest, around 13, were gathering up plates and pots, while the older boys hefted the heavy tables and chairs and heaped them in the corner with the large pot of water. Then came more activity, as swords and equipment of all manner of uses were heaved off the dirty racks and laid out in a mad semblance of order on the dirt floor of the great room.

Then began the training, Robert and Benedict, being the best of the academy, moved straight to the master's podium at the centre, while at the sides young boys sparred under the supervision of muscled men, and a few women, who gave sharp comments, and the occasional slap, to encourage what the academy boasted, fighting excellence.

But Benedict and Robert were perfectly used to all this, it had been their lives for the past four years, and together they had forced their ways through the ranks of flailing swords and clubs to the centre where they stood now, but one year away from freedom and the beginning of a hopefully successful career in the military or as mercenaries for hire.

Today a twist lay in store for them. "Benedict" said the master, his eyes milky white, yet sharp as a hawk's, "The trapdoor in the far side of the room, open it, there are sharp weapons inside, I want every man, woman, and boy to have one." Benedict glanced at Robert worriedly, sharp weapons… the academy never used those, the safety of the students there was paramount, many rich families had entire generations of future heirs training, and wanted to be sure of their safety. Obeying the command, Benedict already knew something was wrong, the teachers looked worried, and even the master had a slight wrinkle in his brow that had never been there before.

Something strange was afoot...

**19th July: episode 3**

Activity was something the academy was used to, it made up most of the everyday routine. But that activity was usually accompanied by a buzz of conversation, the occasional clatter, an odd shout and the incessant thud of wood hitting wood. Today it was not so, the room was silent but for one sound, the sharp and deadly clicking of metal on metal.

Lines of boys and young men stood accepting any weapon they could hold. The air seemed all the tighter, the thick morning fog outside seemed to seep through the cracked walls and ceiling, sticking in peoples' throats, tightening around peoples' necks, stifling and heavy. Some of the younger boys were relaxed, accepting their shiny, new weapons with pride and pleasure, but they hadn't been at the academy long enough to know the rules. Sharp weapons were never used…

In time all the weapons were given out. Benedict wiped sweat off his brow with his free hand, the other grasping the clammy and cold hilt of an iron spear, it was expensive to say the least, heavy, crafted from solid metal, had he not been training for years with sturdy wooden weapons he might have faltered under the weight of the thing. As it was, he held it as if it was nothing, his sturdy muscles barely twitching under the weight. He had been lugging racks of weapons out of the cellar for over an hour now, and none remained unused. It was strange come to think of it; exactly the right number of weapons for every man woman and child in the academy, even the kitchen staff had been given light weapons. Why had they been sitting, fresh and sharp in the cellar usually reserved for broken equipment and supplies? It was inconceivable that the staff of the academy could, alone, have gotten all those weapons into the academy and stashed them like that without being noticed unless they took weeks, months even to do it.

"Robert…" Benedict muttered. He received a worried nod, Robert smelt a rat too. "I want to know what the hell's going on as much as you Ben, but asking Master is like asking for a slap." Robert hissed "Do you reckon any of the teachers will want to answer…" here Robert grinned slyly "to their favorite pupils?" Benedict grinned, despite the tension in the air; he knew the story between Robert and the lithe bow trainer Shali, an exotic woman from somewhere in the Calradian steppes, south of Harlaushia.

"It's worth a try, don't push it though, I'd guess she's still…"

"Exuberant?"

"Oh come on Robert, that's a little weak! More like um…"

"Let's think about that after she's slapped me" Robert winked, and he slipped off through the crowd of students and bristling iron. He had barely reached the teacher in question when a shout came from the centre of the room. The Master was speaking. Not even Robert dared to ignore the call to attention, the anger of the Master was perhaps the most dangerous thing the academy offered, well, at least until these weapons had been brought out.

"You all have weapons." It was a statement without a hint of doubt in it, the Master's eyes may be blank as a winter sky, but he seemed to know everything around him. "And soon you will know why, but I ask that you prepare yourselves, I would like the smallest among us to stand at the edges, they will stand the greatest cha

nce of survival."

And that was all he had to say, they barely had time to move into the positions he ordered before they realised why… there was a knock on the door.

**23rd July: Episode 4**

A knock resounded once again. Then a voice cried out solemnly "Open up Master, it is I Faenris. We have come for you." A whisper rippled through the hall, barely audible, it started along the edges of the hall, amongst the youngest, and then slowly picked up pace moving inwards, towards the centre, towards the Master. "Master? Should we open?" Benedict asked "Hold the door" was the reply, and so came a final knock.

Then the doors shuddered and cracked, splinters flying off in all directions. "They're breaking down the door!" someone screamed. Robert smiled, despite the situation "I thought they were knitting." Benedict gave a nervous laugh, but it was a laugh devoid of any cheer. Benedict knew as well as Robert that this was no laughing matter. The academy was under attack! The doors shuddered under another shock, then one last blow threw them inwards, splinters of wood flowering outwards like some dusty bloom, framing a lone silhouette.

Straining to see through the thick cloud that had formed, Benedict made out a tall lithe figure, a tight tress of perfectly white hair hanging down to his waist and each finely muscled arm holding a crisp white scimitar, both enamelled and etched with a figure of a wolf. The man lifted his cold blue eyes towards the Master "Step forward. Face me." Master didn't even look up. "Close ranks! Do not let him through"

"Dog!" shouted the man, his voice that at first had seemed calm and smooth now angry, almost bitter with hatred. "You would use children to protect yourself, you have fallen low!" Benedict glanced at Robert, the Master had been expecting this intruder, it was the only explanation for the weapons… the tension he had seen in the teachers' eyes.

"Fallen as low as betraying my own nation? I think no Faenris" The Master retorted, his voice tinged with an emotion Benedict had never heard before. "And if you would kill children to get to me, you have fallen all the lower!"

As the Master spoke, two teachers had circled around; they positioned themselves behind the white haired warrior. One held a sword, the other was a trainer in the art of dagger fighting. They glanced at each other, their jaws set, then attacked in unison. There was a blur of white, a spray of blood flew upwards and hit the ceiling, one teacher fell dead on the floor, his eyes wide but unseeing, the other looked down at his chest, from which two arrows were protruding, then he too crumpled to the ground, gurgling as blood filled his throat.

More men rushed into the room, a few armed with bows, most armed with a strange assortment of exotic and deadly weapons. Benedict counted thirty or so. "Close ranks, do not let them through!" Master shouted again. Faenris called out to the scared children "Do not attack us, move aside and you will not be harmed!" his voice was tinged with worry, and it was well founded, for the Master's orders were unquestionable and the children refused to move. "Charge!" the Master ordered. Forty young boys charged. Forty young boys were met with flashing steel.

Then the carnage began in earnest.

The children of the academy were numerous and well trained, but the attackers seemed untouchable, they were skilled and agile, some dancing out of reach of the sharp iron, others simply smashing weapons aside and killing their wielders. In next to no time the first wave of young boys had been slaughtered, falling in bloody heaps on the floor; forty lives ended in less than a minute. And so the next wave came.

Benedict could only watch helplessly as people he knew, people he had talked to, laughed with, and been friends with only a few hours ago were cut down. The air was sharp with the smells of fear. Boys cried out in pain and anger. Those who refused to lift their weapons were cut down in the heat of battle; those fighting for their dead friends met swift ends on singing steel.

But soon the front rows had all been passed, and young men with years of experience, and the strength of adolescence began to enter the battle. The massacre had ended… the battle had begun!

**24th July: Episode 5**

Everything was black for a moment, then grey, then gradually a strange fuzzy light began to appear. Benedict's eyes opened and he saw blood everywhere, the walls were stained with it, the floor was covered in it. His first though was "It's over" but then his eyes focused on a fast moving blur of activity. "No they're still fighting… fighting? What a stupid idea… why can't we all sit down and… and…" Benedict coughed as a spray of blood hit him in the face from ten metres away. It was shocking enough to wake him from his internal monologue. The fight was still on, he had blacked out or something, been hit on the head, it didn't matter, the fight was still on.

Raking stock of the situation, he saw about ten men left of the invaders, the tall man with twin blades amongst them. Of the fighters in the academy only thirty or so still stood, closed in a tight ring around the master, the best of the students. Benedict was right in the centre, next to the Master's podium, his knees weak but his sight and strength fast returning, Benedict gritted his teeth. He would fight like a man, and die like one if he must, but these murderers would not be allowed to go unpunished. Gripping his spear tight, he stood as tall as he could and thrust down over the heads of his friends. He was rewarded by a shout and a sickening crunch, distinguishable from the sounds of battle by its volume. Grinding his teeth together to fight back nausea, Benedict stabbed downwards again and again, feeling a grim satisfaction whenever he felt his spear slice into soft flesh, renewing his efforts when someone batted his weapon aside.

But despite the best efforts of the academicians, soon there was nothing left between Benedict and the five attackers still standing. They stood for a moment facing each other and breathing heavily from the exertion of a battle that must have lasted all of an hour. Benedict and Robert instinctively stood together, protecting the Master, or at least they would have protected him, but he stood up slowly, easing himself out of his chair "So it comes to it?" he opened a slim box that he had been holding, and pulled out a set of knives, fitting one between each of his fingers without looking down. Faenris stepped forwards, his hair matted with blood, and his scimitars dripping. "Stand back, none of you could hope to defeat him." The warrior spoke calmly and surely, as though he had not just slaughtered a score of children, as if this was as normal to him as watching the daybreak. Walking evenly and gracefully, all tiredness pushed away by a rush of adrenaline, the man held out his two scimitars as if offering a challenge.

Master continued to gaze at the other end of the hall, the whiteness of his eyes a stark contrast to the blood streaked adversary who was standing beneath him, at the foot of his podium. "Faenris" said the Master, "Master" replied Faenris, staring levelly at Master's chest.

"Shall we?"

"We shall."

The air blurred, a rush of air whipped past Benedict face, blowing his straggly hair out of his eyes. Then a sound came, a constant whirring and clicking, then Benedict realised what was happening. The two men were fighting. It was a terrible sight to behold, yet beautiful too, in the way that the sea is beautiful, in all its terrible destructive force. They seemed to be simply dancing backwards and forwards, the air in front of them shimmering and shining white and grey with steel moving faster than the human eye could track. At times both men would be standing still, legs unmoving and unbending. Nothing seemed to be moving except for the odd drop of blood flying out or the constant blur of moving weapons. Neither combatant was using his eyes; they simply stared straight ahead at the other's face. Master was probably relying on his highly attuned senses, honed from years of sightlessness, or so Benedict assumed. Faenris was doing so out of respect for his enemy's handicap, or simply because the battle was going at such a pace that he could not keep track of his adversary's movements.

They had reached the other side of the room in their running battle when Benedict felt a tug on his arm, Robert looked at him meaningfully, and gestured towards the four men still watching the battle, mesmerised as Benedict had been only moments before. Nodding, Benedict raised his spear and in unison he and Robert fought back the fatigue of battle and struck. Two men fell dead. Two more turned, startled, and faced them… the element of surprise was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Ok, here's another five episodes, or one chapter, for you to read. There hasn't been much traffic yet (only two hits so far ;-) but I'll try and keep up the rate of one chapter a day, which should make it a week before the entire fanfic is up.

Hope you enjoy this second installment, sorry about the cliffhanger ending, and also for the terrible wa I set out speech marks! Rest assured that in my next fanfics and fics I'll space them out properly!

**25th July: Episode 6**

"Oh god this is bad." Benedict muttered to Robert, his voice betraying his fear. Two men who only moments ago had fought a battle against two hundred children were now facing only two boys. It was true that Benedict was the second best fighter in the academy, and that Robert was the very best, and that was partly why they had survived so long. But neither of them had truly been tested in a one on one battle before. Robert was outwardly calm, his hand and a half sword held loosely, his stance relaxed and ready to move, but Benedict knew his friend well enough. Robert was inwardly cowering at the thought of having to fight for his life alone and unaided, but only years of comradeship had taught Benedict how to see that. The men they were facing would see but a grim and determined façade, and that could work in both of their advantages.

Benedict set his face stonily, imitating Robert's impenetrable mask, and observed the men they faced. One held a simple sword and shield, both finely crafted and fairly light, his face was unmistakeably Harlaushian. The other held a long stick with a wickedly sharp crescent shaped blade at either end, he was bald with almost yellow skin, his eyes were thin and alert. Wordlessly the pairings were decided, the sword wielder moved casually, almost mockingly towards Robert, his face sneering in contempt, and the other moved carefully towards Benedict his stance was perfect, there were no openings. "Great Robert gets an overconfident fool; I fight a well trained and alert soldier." Benedict thought.

His thoughts were interrupted by a tentative swipe in his direction; his adversary was testing the water. Benedict stepped back, reluctant to reveal his competence with weapons yet. Another swipe came, and Benedict blocked it with the haft of his spear, thinking hard about how to trick the man into growing overconfident. But it wasn't happening, a flurry of blows came in quick succession and Benedict was forced to dance backwards to avoid them. His opponent was far from stupid; he wouldn't give Benedict a chance to invent himself an attack style. Moving from the defensive, Benedict thrust forwards, spinning his spear to send the butt towards the oriental man's chest. It surprised him!

He blocked the end with a second to spare and countered with a slash from both ends of his polearm successively, jumping backwards to avoid the second strike, Benedict immediately lashed out with his foot and caught the man on the shin, then, from his crouched position, he stabbed upwards aiming for the neck. Surprised, Benedict found that his target was no longer there. Spinning around to Benedict's side, the man slashed down to the side of his head. Parrying a second before the blow connected, he struggled to get up from his crouch. What a fool he had been! He'd fallen into the very trap he wanted to lay for his enemy. The man hadn't been at all surprised by his technique, he'd simply allowed Benedict to think so, and now he had forced Benedict onto the defensive. Jumping backwards and stumbling to his feet, Benedict managed to regain his stance and send a weak counter that was batted aside.

Robert meanwhile was having less trouble. His opponent had indeed been overconfident, and was constantly on the defence, using his shield to try and gain an opening. Using an effective sidestep and thrust, Robert managed to stab his opponent in the side. It was a shallow hit, but it caused the man a great deal of pain, enough so to enrage him. Roaring in anger, the man abandoned all semblance of technique and charged blindly at Robert, his shield protecting his upper body. It worked, and Robert was forced to skip backwards to dodge the hits aimed at him.

Both their attackers had the upper hand now, and the Master continued to fight his dizzying battle on the other side of the hall.

**July 26th: Episode 7**

Benedict felt pain lance up his leg, he screamed in agony; an agony that was soon replaced by the burning anger of an adrenaline rush. He had been slashed across the leg while trying to perform a counterattack, and it hurt. But the anger gave him strength, the strength he needed to fight on, and raising his spear he tried a new tactic. He smashed the head down at his opponent's weapon, bludgeoning it out of his path, and then thrust forwards. His blow connected with a wrapping of chain mail, but it was a hit, and his opponent was bleeding red, hot blood. Snarling, Benedict jumped straight at his opponents, ignoring the danger that this presented, and grabbed hold of his weapon with one hand. Holding it down, he smashed his spear butt repeatedly into his enemy's chest.

The man released himself from Benedict's mad grip and staggered backwards coughing blood. He looked up, his eyes flashing dangerously, and spun his weapon round above his head, bringing it down in an arc he jumped at Benedict and slashed across his stomach. Everything went fuzzy, and Benedict slumped to the ground. The wound probably wasn't deep, and certainly wasn't fatal, but the pain was such that Benedict knelt down and waited for a finishing blow.

Robert tried desperately to beat back the flailing sword that was unrelentingly trying to cut his head off. There was no pattern to the attacks, no sense or order, it was impossible to find a way to exploit them. To put it simply, Robert was losing the battle, and he knew it. His sword was knocked aside and trying to regain his balance, he could only watch helplessly as the man in front of him raised prepared to deliver a coup de grace.

But both men stopped, staring wide eyed in front of them as an inferno spread across the entire hall, engulfing the dry timber and straw of the room in seconds. Faenris and the Master had, in their chaotic battle, knocked a pair of braziers over into a barrel of animal fats. The result was an explosion of searing flame that set the entire hall on fire. The Master was knocked flat on his back by the blast, and Faenris, ever agile, was still on his feet. In a flash he leapt the few metres that separated him from the Master and sent his swords down in a graceful arc. Master rolled sideways and leapt to his feet, one arm was left lying on the floor, severed.

Robert and Benedict had both recovered some ground, and were managing to hold off their seemingly inevitable deaths with wild parries and desperate dodges, but they were both inexorably losing ground, being pushed backwards towards the fast growing inferno. It was a surprise to both Robert and his attacker when a pair of daggers came flying through the air and thudded home. With a clatter barely audible above the roar of flames, a sword and shield fell to the ground. Robert's opponent was dead. Master sprinted across the room, his weapons discarded, his agility a strange contrast with his old age and missing arm. "Robert" he shouted above the flames. "Head for Calra…" he fell, to the ground, his clothes burning, his stump spraying blood, a white-red scimitar sticking through his chest.

"Come, we leave!" shouted Faenris, the oriental man's head snapped up from the fight, and leaping backwards from an opportunist thrust, he sprinted after Faenris and they disappeared into the smoke.

Benedict searched blindly for Robert, the smoke that now filled the entire hall stinging his eyes and choking him. "Rob… Robert! Where are you?" he ran blindly in the direction he remembered the Master having been in. Crawling under a burning beam, he saw Robert kneeling on the floor next to the Master. The last thing Benedict heard before he blacked out was "Head… south Robert. Head for Calradia." then the Master died and Benedict fainted, abandoning himself to the cool darkness that claimed him from this searing inferno.

**27th July: Episode 8**

Darkness, sweet soothing and cool. A darkness in which one could almost forget the burning of flames, the pain of searing heat. It was an embrace that Benedict longed to fall into, an embrace he was denied.

A splash of freezing cold water shocked him to his senses, and he awoke coughing and spluttering. His eyes half open, he saw Robert standing over him looking concerned, and a half barrel full of sweet cool water. Perhaps it would be worth leaving this darkness. But no, it was too tiring. Benedict slipped backwards, closing his eyes, pretending that his stomach wasn't heavy with half a pound of swallowed ash and soot. Falling…

"Oh for the love of the lord wake up" Benedict felt a slap across his cheek. He opened his eyes again, the sky was getting dark and… a feeling rose in his stomach and he rolled over and vomited hard, a stream of grey and thick acid mixed with burnt wood hit the floor in a stinking puddle. No sooner had he finished retching, the smell made him vomit again.

"Dinner's up I see." Oh lord, Robert was alive; God had a way of making things worse. "Here, drink up, you've been out half a day" Benedict tried to smile, but he found his face caked in crusted ash and blood, so he tried sitting up. Immediately he felt a searing pain that forced him back down. Of course, he had been slashed across the chest.

"Look, don't move" Robert grinned, for some reason finding the situation amusing, and handed Benedict a charred tankard brimming with water. Lifting his arm cautiously, Benedict drank deeply. It was like drinking the sweetest nectar! All the pain in his throat was washed away in a cool stream, and when he reached the bottom he thrust the tankard out madly, demanding more. "Alright, alright! Give me a moment, it won't do anything but make you sick again if you drink too much at once" As if on cue, Benedict retched again…

It was only two hours later when he finally had the strength to sit up and view his surroundings. They were sitting by the still burning ruins of the great academy. The sky was dark; it was mid-afternoon at least, although hard to tell with all the clouds in the sky. Robert was busy cooking something over a slowly burning beam that had been thrown from the academy. He himself was wrapped in a hairy blanket, no doubt pillaged from the dormitories before they caught fire. His spear was lying a few feet away with Robert's bastard sword. "Quite a cosy little camp we've got here." Benedict said, a last finding the strength of will for an ironic smile. Robert actually jumped at the sound of his voice. "Oh you're finally awake. For a while back there I thought you were a goner."

"How did we get out?" Benedict asked, moving his left leg cautiously, to find that the wound there had been bandaged and cleaned, like the one on his stomach. "I carried you out through the sleeping area; it didn't catch fire for about an hour, so I had time to get our belongings out, and some food." Robert gestured around the camp. "Anyone else alive from the academy?" Benedict asked grimly, but a look from Robert told him all he needed to know. "Anyway, I've always wanted to have a picnic by a fire!" Robert smiled, ever cheerful, and gestured to the burning academy. Despite the situation, Benedict had to laugh. And they finished eating, and settled down to sleep.

It was not an easy sleep, Benedict was plagued by nightmares of screaming children. They turned to him and shouted wordlessly, blood seeping from wounds all over their frail bodies. One by one they fell down in bloody heaps of bone and blood, still screaming, still accusing him. "Why didn't you save us? Why did you survive?" they screamed. Then the Master appeared behind them, his stump of an arm spraying blood pointed at him, knives still held in his other hand. "You don't deserve to survive, you weren't meant to survive!"

"I'm sorry! Leave me alone!" Benedict screamed, only to find himself awake and sweating in the cold night, the fire of the academy casting a hellish glow over the camp, and illuminating a lone figure standing in over Benedict's bed. "Robert? Rob… there's someone in the camp!"

**July 28th: Episode 9**

"Who the hell are you?" shouted Robert, casting his eyes about for his weapon. "Calm down please! I mean no harm!" Eyeing him warily Robert stood up his sword finally in hand. "What do you want?" The man was wearing a warm travelling robe, he stood about the same height as Benedict, although it was hard to judge from his position on the floor. "Please, I told you I mean you no harm, I am but a lone traveller."

"Sure" Benedict growled "A lone traveller who, despite his experience still travels wearing an expensive robe, a perfect lure for bandits. And not only that, a lone traveller who approaches a burning building, despite the fact that this could imply any number of dangers, don't try and lie to us, what is your business?" For a moment the traveller was flustered "There are two of them" he murmured. Benedict noticed for the first time that he was only about fifteen years of age, like Robert and himself, perhaps this 'traveller' did not pose as much of a threat as they might have thought.

"Alright, allow me to explain myself. My name is Har… Harris. I am indeed a lone traveller because… my family were killed by bandits and… my home burnt down, I was forced to flee alone on horseback. I have no money on me, and only enough food supplies for two people. So I'm afraid only one of you can come with me... um if you want to… I mean." Robert shook his head, exasperated. "What in the name of our good lord are you talking about? What makes you think we're going to come with you? And what's this rubbish about bandits killing your family? If I'm any judge you're a noble, and believe me, unless nobles in Harlaushia refuse to employ bodyguards I doubt bandits would attack them."

"Please, I'll pay you!" he exclaimed, "I thought you had no money" Robert retorted. The boy began to shake visibly, despite all his original bravado. He was indeed a pampered noble boy, unused to hardships. There must be some truth to his story. "Look" Benedict spoke kindly "I don't know why you're here, or what you want, but if you let us search you and let us keep your weapons out of reach then you can travel with us to wherever it is you're going." Robert rolled his eyes, abandoning all hope of getting rid of this now annoying hanger on. "Look" he said "We're travelling south, into Calradia. My family are rich merchants, if you like you can travel with us as far as Suno, from there you'll have to make your own way."

The boy, Harris, thought about it for a moment, then spoke slowly "I suppose travelling with two people is better than with one… alright, I accept! Harris at your service, I can fight, and I know how to hunt on horseback, I also have a lot of supplies with me and… that's it!" He grinned cheerfully. Benedict couldn't help warming to Harris, despite the fact that he seemed a little spoilt; perhaps he would be worth travelling with after all. Besides, he seemed lost and young, despite the fact that he was the same age as Benedict and Robert. "Alright then Harris, I suppose you can stay with us, but we'll take your weapons during the night, we should all get some sleep. Robert groaned, "I guess I'm the only one who's fit to stay on watch" But the memory of his nightmare cam back to him in a chilling flash, and Benedict knew there would be no sleep for him. "Don't worry, I'll stay up this time."

And by the light of the moon, Benedict watched his two companions lie down and rest, the memory of bloody children still haunting him even as he watched them.

**29th July: Episode 10**

Dawn came, slinking into sight as if it didn't want to wake up. Robert had woken up twice to ask Benedict if he wanted to trade watches, but he refused, all night he had sat watching the sleeping form of Harris, trying not to doze off. And when, twice, he did shut his eyes, he was visited by visions of mangled children and bloody Master accusing him. "You don't deserve to survive, you weren't meant to survive!"

Seeing Benedict's sunken eyes, Robert volunteered to find some food and water for them, but Harris, who had been lying half awake, sprang to his feet. "I know how to hunt, perhaps I can find you some food" Benedict smiled, his eyes half closed, too tired to respond, but Robert laughed, almost mockingly, "You won't find any deer or boar around these parts; this isn't your daddy's reserve with fenced off signposted hunting points." Frowning, Harris stuck his bottom lip out and muttered angrily. "Give him a chance Rob, you weren't too dissimilar when you started out at the academy, fresh from comfortable surroundings and all."

Robert reluctantly agreed, knowing that this was indeed true, he had been like almost all the other noble lads in the academy, ready to cry at the slightest bruise and complaining loudly at what "father" would think of this or that. But time with Benedict, who had been his friend from practically the first day, had taught him to keep a stiff upper lip and weather the everyday hardships until he no longer seemed like a soft child but a stoic soldier.

"Ok Harris, I'm sorry, I suppose I should have been kinder to you." Robert offered his hand, hoping to make up the rather harsh way he had been treating their new companion. Harris refused to shake it, still sulking. Benedict groaned, his mind swimming with tiredness "Look for the love of our lord shake the hand Harris, if that's the worst slight you've ever come across then know that your life has been happy so far!" Harris reluctantly shook Robert's hand. "Actually, I can hunt wild you know!" He began amiably; although Benedict had the impression he was trying to one-up Robert. "In fact if you give me half an hour I'll have you a fox or some birds right here!"

Benedict was grateful to Robert for rising above it, he didn't want to have to leave Harris behind because he and Robert were feuding, he had begun to believe he could be a valuable help to them. The argument was dropped however, and they went about their morning preparations. Harris, despite the earlier offer to hunt, revealed that he had supplies enough for two people neatly packed, and offered magnanimously to allow all three of them to share it. There was little actually packed on Harris, but he revealed that he had a horse further back who had a good few days worth of supplies on it. Robert told him to go and fetch the horse while he packed up their gear, but Harris insisted that Benedict drag himself along with him.

Benedict limped alongside Harris, making slow progress to a clearing which was supposedly "not far back" But it soon seemed that they were not even heading in a straight line. Wishing he had taken a weapon with him, Benedict suddenly found himself eyeing Harris carefully; he was without a doubt being lead away from the campsite. "Alright Harris, I think this is far enough. Do you actually know where this horse is?" Harris turned slowly towards Benedict. "We're not really going to look for the horse, it's much closer to the camp than this, I brought you out here for something else." Harris had his hand dangerously close to his pocket. Acting as fast as he could, Benedict pushed himself forwards off one leg and grabbed Harris's arm.


	3. Chapter 3

Alright! Here's the third chapter. There's a bit less action in this one, but some suspense and mystery to compensate. Plus Benedict meets a very good friend (wolf whistles) from his childhood.

Enjoy it!

* * *

**29th July: Episode 10**

Dawn came, slinking into sight as if it didn't want to wake up. Robert had woken up twice to ask Benedict if he wanted to trade watches, but he refused, all night he had sat watching the sleeping form of Harris, trying not to doze off. And when, twice, he did shut his eyes, he was visited by visions of mangled children and bloody Master accusing him. "You don't deserve to survive, you weren't meant to survive!"

Seeing Benedict's sunken eyes, Robert volunteered to find some food and water for them, but Harris, who had been lying half awake, sprang to his feet. "I know how to hunt, perhaps I can find you some food" Benedict smiled, his eyes half closed, too tired to respond, but Robert laughed, almost mockingly, "You won't find any deer or boar around these parts; this isn't your daddy's reserve with fenced off signposted hunting points." Frowning, Harris stuck his bottom lip out and muttered angrily. "Give him a chance Rob, you weren't too dissimilar when you started out at the academy, fresh from comfortable surroundings and all."

Robert reluctantly agreed, knowing that this was indeed true, he had been like almost all the other noble lads in the academy, ready to cry at the slightest bruise and complaining loudly at what "father" would think of this or that. But time with Benedict, who had been his friend from practically the first day, had taught him to keep a stiff upper lip and weather the everyday hardships until he no longer seemed like a soft child but a stoic soldier.

"Ok Harris, I'm sorry, I suppose I should have been kinder to you." Robert offered his hand, hoping to make up the rather harsh way he had been treating their new companion. Harris refused to shake it, still sulking. Benedict groaned, his mind swimming with tiredness "Look for the love of our lord shake the hand Harris, if that's the worst slight you've ever come across then know that your life has been happy so far!" Harris reluctantly shook Robert's hand. "Actually, I can hunt wild you know!" He began amiably; although Benedict had the impression he was trying to one-up Robert. "In fact if you give me half an hour I'll have you a fox or some birds right here!"

Benedict was grateful to Robert for rising above it, he didn't want to have to leave Harris behind because he and Robert were feuding, he had begun to believe he could be a valuable help to them. The argument was dropped however, and they went about their morning preparations. Harris, despite the earlier offer to hunt, revealed that he had supplies enough for two people neatly packed, and offered magnanimously to allow all three of them to share it. There was little actually packed on Harris, but he revealed that he had a horse further back who had a good few days worth of supplies on it. Robert told him to go and fetch the horse while he packed up their gear, but Harris insisted that Benedict drag himself along with him.

Benedict limped alongside Harris, making slow progress to a clearing which was supposedly "not far back" But it soon seemed that they were not even heading in a straight line. Wishing he had taken a weapon with him, Benedict suddenly found himself eyeing Harris carefully; he was without a doubt being lead away from the campsite. "Alright Harris, I think this is far enough. Do you actually know where this horse is?" Harris turned slowly towards Benedict. "We're not really going to look for the horse, it's much closer to the camp than this, I brought you out here for something else." Harris had his hand dangerously close to his pocket. Acting as fast as he could, Benedict pushed himself forwards off one leg and grabbed Harris's arm.

**July 30th: Episode 11**

Harris looked at him in surprise, pinned to the floor by the Benedict's one good arm. "What are you doing?" he shouted alarmed. "Help me! I'm being attacked!" Benedict almost stood up, puzzled by Harris' reaction. "Hold on, you mean you weren't going to knife me?" he asked, loosening his grip, although still holding Harris to the floor. "Knife you? What on earth are you talking about? I was going to talk to you out of his way" He gestured in the direction of the campsite, and Robert. "Oh, I see." Benedict briefly checked Harris' pockets then stood up, embarrassed. "So, um, what did you want to ask me about?" he said, on the verge of going red. Harris stood up laughing and dusted off his cloak, shaking leaves out of his shoulder length black hair. "Are we far enough away from the camp? I don't want him to be able to hear us." Benedict frowned, what on earth could be so important that Robert should not be allowed to hear it?

"Look, I wanted to ask you, which of you is the better fighter." Harris looked shifty, his eyes flitting around as if he had remembered some sort of danger. "Robert, if you want to go statistically" Benedict replied. "Oh. Is that for sure?" Harris asked, looking a little disappointed. "Well… No, the positions were based on individual fights, and because he had a sword, Robert had an advantage over my spear. But I personally think he'd fare better than me against any opponent, although our level is so similar, it would be hard to tell the difference." Harris stood still for a moment, considering what Benedict had said, although Benedict could not see why it was so important him.

"Look, Harris, I want to speak to you too. You're story seems a little… odd. And the way you sometimes say things like "I can only take one of you with me" it seems like you planned to find one of us standing outside the academy waiting like an escort." Benedict kept his face impassive, wondering if he had surmised correctly, it was the conclusion he had drawn while sitting awake last night. Harris raised an eyebrow "Why? Do you not think that a noble would have the money to buy his own escort?" Benedict looked at him "But your family was apparently killed by 'bandits' so you wouldn't have time to buy an escort." Harris smiled "So I would simply go to the most reputed academy in the known world, assuming that it would happen to have burnt down when I arrived and that there would be one survivor waiting for me who would be willing to escort me in the direction I wanted?"

Benedict considered this for a moment; it was true that it was practically impossible for anyone to orchestrate coincidences that huge, but it did seem odd how Harris had simply arrived the moment the academy burnt down, with enough food for two people. "Well look, as long as you don't start trying to slit our throats in the night I suppose it doesn't matter why you turned up looking for us." Benedict said, trying to pass it off as mere coincidence. Harris grinned happily "Great! So we can still be friends?" Benedict was once again struck by the changes in moods that Harris, if that was indeed his name, was capable of making. "Sure Harris. Lets get back to the camp, Robert will have finished packing up by now."

Sure enough, by the time he had limped back to the wreckage of the academy, a fine black horse laden with food in tow, Robert had packed all their equipment and they slung it over the horse's back. Helped onto the beast by Harris, who was the only one who knew how to ride, Benedict took one last look at the burnt academy that had been his home for all of five years, and they set off into the cool shade of the forest, the sun climbing the sky happily, the mystery of Harris's strange appearance still nagging at the back of Benedict's mind.

**July 31st: Episode 12 **

Benedict studied his face, reflected in a small calm stream, shining in the afternoon sun. Brown hair hung messily down to his eyes, his eyebrows nearly black, burnt in places from the fire at the academy. His jaw was sharp, contrasting with fairly soft cheekbones and a wide mouth. He splashed his hands in the water sending the image shimmering away like minnows, and splashed it into his eyes, trying to wash away the tiredness that had not left him. The soot that had caked his face was now only a dark outline, and he rubbed it off, leaving only the shade of an adolescent's stubble behind.

They had stopped for a moment to refresh themselves, Robert and Benedict being in no hurry to get anywhere, contrary to Harris, who seemed nervous and edgy whenever they paused, constantly asking them to "make haste!" But even Benedict saw no reason to hurry their journey, the weather was warm and pleasant, they were walking through scattered woodlands and fields that were easy on the feet. Had the slaughter of the academicians not weighed so heavily on their minds, they might have enjoyed the journey, a fresh experience for them all.

Harris had sketched out a rough map in a patch of dirt, and they had decided to head for the border-fort town of St Sarisa, situated no more than half a league from Swadian territories. Until then they faced a fairly uneventful journey, passing through no major towns and crossing only the River Rei. So with this plan in mind they had set out from the academy. Making good progress, the first day had so far passed without event, leaving the camp at noon, they headed through the woodlands surrounding the fairly secluded academy, and had reached their current location.

"We should move on quickly" Harris repeated for the fifth time, anxiously brushing his horse down. "Oh lord above! Can you not be patient, if we do not take time to rest ourselves we'll end up exhausted by the end of the night" Robert said over his shoulder, pulling a wild apple off the tree he was sitting in. "Here, eat this and be quiet" he laughed, tossing the apple at Harris, who caught it smoothly and bit into it. "Hey!" he choked, spitting out lumps of half chewed apple "This isn't even ripe" Robert laughed uproariously, "Thanks for the warning, I'll avoid eating any off this tree." Harris shot him a glare and turned back to tending his horse. "Give him a break Robert, you've done nothing but annoy him all day" Benedict snapped, feeling irritable and sore from the aching of his wounds. Harris smiled thankfully, it was true that Robert was being unusually snappy; it was as if he resented Harris's intrusion. It occurred to Benedict that he might be feeling jealous, since Benedict often took Harris's side, feeling sorry for the boy who seemed unused to the difficulties of the outside world.

"Shall we move out then? We need to find a good spot to rest for tonight." Benedict sighed, standing up painfully. Robert jumped neatly off his perch and straightened up "If you insist. Come on Harris, make haste! We'll be here for forever and a day if you don't get a move on." He winked at Benedict "Honestly, that boy, he's forever hanging around, it's a wonder we're going anywhere with him around." He turned to face Harris, who stood ready to go, his pack slung over his shoulder "Come along now Robert, make haste." He spat, and walked off. Robert laughed again, looking to Benedict for some form of approval. Giving him a reluctant half smile, Benedict limped off after the horse.

**August 1st: Episode 13 **

"How are we supposed to catch him?" Faenris asked politely "He escaped our attempts to capture him once, someone had informed him of them beforehand, now he's disappeared into the countryside, we followed his trail as far as we could but we lost it once he hit the main travelling routes." The man on the other side of the table sat pensively. "If we fail to capture him or kill him we cannot continue with the second part of our plan. Every day he eludes us we risk being found out by the king's men, we cannot afford to let him run free!" There was a silence, both men thought hard, racking their brains for solutions. Faenris had few, he was a warrior of exceptional ability, to this day only the Master had ever managed to best him in combat, and even then he had survived, but strategy and intrigue were not his strong points. That was why the man he was talking to sat across the table from him, the eagle's mark around his neck, and not Faenris's.

"We should put all our resources into finding him then. The longer he eludes us, the greater the chances that people learn of his escape and he can rally support. If he reaches Calradia he will be beyond our reach."

Faenris observed another moment of quiet before talking "I do not believe he would be unattainable once in Calradia, the Swadians have no love of Harlaushia, and would most likely be pleased to learn of the prince walking alone through their lands, as long as he remains out of Vaegir territories he will be within our grasp. Once he reaches Vaegir lands he will however be safe, the Vaegirs are noble men, and so far their politicians have refused to make dealings with exterior forces. They believe in fighting their own wars on the battlefield, without any underhand methods."

The man across the table sighed, and placed his head in his hands "As far as we know, the royal family have an informer in our midst, we cannot be sure of any plan of action until we root out the traitor."

"It is already done, we attacked the Master's academy three days ago and killed him, he knew of our coming, and must therefore have been the traitor. Regrettably we had to kill the students there, but the Master sent them to attack us, we had no choice but to fight our way through."

"That is indeed regrettable. However many nobles had sons in the academy, a blow to them will strengthen us, although I would prefer it if word got out that they were killed in a fire, rather than by us."

"The academy was burnt down, although not intentionally, when someone fnally finds out, they will find nothing but ashes." Faenris frowned, these underhand methods were not the way of a warrior, had it not been for the greater good, he would have cut the man before him down without hesitation. But it was for the wellbeing of a whole country that they sacrificed a few lives, he would atone for these sins once their noble task was done.

"Now Faenris, we can act, if it was indeed Master who betrayed us, and I will trust your judgement on that, then we no longer have anything to fear. Send out a party to the academy to find any survivors, they must be apprehended and kept prisoner until we have completed our plan."

"I do not believe anyone could have escaped the wreckage of the academy. Only two students were left standing by the time I had killed the Master, for them to have escaped the wreckage is nigh on impossible. Our pet monk, who was the only one apart from me who survived the assault, tells me one was gravely wounded. Even if the other was unharmed, I doubt he could have escaped the flames."

"Very well, contact our associates in the area and tell them to keep a lookout for any academicians. In the meantime, let us continue to discuss how we may find the prince."

**August 2nd: Episode 14 **

Three days had gone by; time had passed slowly, inexorably, as they travelled across the academy's woodland, then joined minor country roads leading to small villages. Benedict's wounds had healed fast, to the extent that he could now walk a steady pace for a good few hours, although he still tired quickly. Luckily walking fast was not a problem for the three travellers. They had travelled at their usual lazy pace, heading straight for the Calradian border.

It was towards mid-evening when they arrived at a small village, a village like any other. "I recognise this place!" Benedict gasped from his position on horseback. "Which place?" Robert asked, unable to see the village from his position. "Look, down there, see that village? It's where I come from!" Benedict breathed. His parents lived there, his family also, nothing seemed to have changed in the five years he had been gone. Harris and Robert joined him at the crest of the hill, their breath misting in the oncoming chill of night time. "So do your parents live there?" Harris asked. "Aye, my parents and family." Benedict said, lost in thought. What kind of welcome would he receive? His parents had allowed him to go to the academy somewhat unwillingly. It was unusual for a child of non-noble blood to be allowed in.

He was broken out of his reverie by Robert's scathingly witty comment "You must understand that for Benedict, parents and family are one and the same. His parents were family before they became his parents." Groaning, Benedict offered Robert a slap across the back of the head from the top of the horse while Harris laughed uncertainly. "Let's go, I want to see how things are going for everyone." He squeezed the sides of the horse and it set off at a slow trot, the other two following on, listening to Benedict talk excitedly. "There's a small inn where we can stay the night, I'm sure the innkeeper will be more than happy to let us stay free. Oh and then of course my parent's live on the other side of the village, I'm an only child by the way Harris." Robert shook his head sadly at Harris. "Peasants…" he sighed. "Shut up" Harris replied.

The house stood by a quiet pond, a small field behind it full of rows of crops, the walls were made of large blocks of stone picked up off the ground and stuck together haphazardly with mortar. "But it's home" thought Benedict, knocking on the door. A fairly young man looked out questioningly, his face covered in a tight beard, his clothing poor and shabby. "Yes? May I help you sires?" he asked, obviously impressed by Benedict, Robert and Harris's relatively expensive clothing. "Morris? What are you doing in my parent's house?" Benedict smiled. "Benedict? Oh god… you mean you don't know?"

The room was smoky and shabby, the ceiling was low and made of cheap wood, the table also was sturdy but obviously cheap, had Benedict not been struggling to fight back tears, he would have recognised the craftsmanship of his own father in it. "They can't be dead! It isn't possible. Why didn't anyone tell me? WHY!" He roared and kicked the table across the room, his powerful muscles sending it right into the opposite wall with a heavy thud. "That table won't break Benedict, it was you father who made it…" Morris said. Strangely it soothed Benedict. To think of his father's work still in use and alive in the world.

"How… how did it happen?" he whispered, the tightening of his throat begging for tearful release. "Benedict…" sighed Morris "I won't lie to you. Their end was not easy, but they died together, for them I think that was what really mattered. It was the plague, it killed nearly half the villagers. Most of the people you would have known as a young boy either moved away as soon as plague broke out or caught it. Your parents were amongst them, they refused to leave because they knew you would finish at the academy in a couple of years."

Benedict felt a stab of guilt, if he hadn't insisted on trying for the academy, perhaps they could have moved away as soon as the first victim… no, he knew his parents, they would have wanted to stay and help the dying. A thought came to him. "Ada? Is she…?" the question hung in the air, burning at Benedict's heart from where it floated, unanswered. "Ada? She's fine." Benedict collapsed in relief, the tears he'd held in flowing down his face.

**August 3rd: Episode 15 **

Ada, her eyes soft and understanding, her hands reassuring. "It's alright Benedict…" she whispered. She understood, her parents too had died in the plague; she was alone, like Benedict, working in the inn for food and a bed. Despite his urge to snap at her, to send her off, Benedict knew that she was perhaps the only person who could help him. He looked up from his hands, wet with tears, "Ada." He croaked, trying to find the words to express his thanks. She had always been with him, since he was a boy. Born in the same month, they had grown up side by side, inseparable; in short she was like a sister to Benedict.

Night had fallen outside. Benedict and his companions had been given a free lodging in the inn for the night, but sleep eluded him as always, and a fear of what he would see as he slept kept his heavy eyes open. Robert and Harris had both tried to be understanding, patting him on the back and telling him how everything would be fine. Benedict didn't care what they thought, things would be fine, how could they be any different? To them, noble and rich as they were, the death of a couple more peasants meant little to them. But Ada understood, he looked up again, his tears drying in salty lines don his cheeks. "Ada…" again he lost his words as sorrow overtook him. "I understand" smiled Ada, and that was consolation enough.

Meanwhile the moon shone, a half moon that was unnaturally bright. It was not the kind of moon that Raymond the innkeeper welcomed. But who cared? No one would be awake at these hours. Ada was still up with that boy, but he they would be too wrapped in their own misery to notice the door shutting at the back of the inn and the shadow moving outside.

The paths were dry and hard, crunching underfoot. Not good either! But then again, why shouldn't he be out at night? He was allowed outside wasn't he? Right, so that was that. Soon he was out of the village heading for the old man's cabin. It was a good few miles, so he took his horse from the field behind the village. A good sturdy horse, lucky it was quiet. He pressed it on to a gallop, this news was urgent! Snickering in protest, the plough horse tried to slow down, unused to having to run like this, especially in the dark. A kick to the side got it speeding on again, this news was urgent!

"Who's there?" asked the old man. "Is me, Raymond." replied the innkeeper.

"Ah… Raymond? Hmm, let me think let me think… ooh yes! The innkeeper! What news?" came the shaky voice from inside the log cabin. "He's in the inn, you told me there was a reward for telling you." Raymond's eyes shone greedily in the half light. "Indeed, indeed there is. Keep him there a few hours can you?" wheezed the door.

"I'll do anything once I get the reward. Just tell me how long I should keep them, free lodgings'll hold them for a couple of days if needed."

"Well well… I should say another hour or two will be fine. But…but… what's this I hear about them? You say there are more than just him?"

Raymond sighed impatiently "Yes! There are three of them. The one you're looking for and two others, but for goodness's sake hurry up before I'm missed, it's no usual for a man to go riding off into the woods at night you know."

"Worry not, worry not. You shall have your reward if we find them there, until then go home. Make sure he doesn't leave, kill their horses if you must."

"They've only got one horse."

"Aaaah, that does help things doesn't it! Perhaps they will be easy to catch up after all. Well anyway, I'll set off to tell our friends, you do as I have told you and…"

"Yes yes I know! Keep them there. I am not deaf old man! They are hardly going to leave in the middle of the night are they?" Raymond sighed in frustration. So he would have to wait for that reward? Damn the old man. Very well, wait he would, but it would be well worth it for that amount of money. "Alright old man, make sure you bring my rewards after you've killed them." Raymond shouted through the door, then he climbed back onto his horse and galloped back through the wood.


	4. Chapter 4

**August 4th: Episode 16**

Bit by bit his tears dried, small pools of salt, encrusted in the ale-stained table. "Ada, I've been wanting to tell you. It's… it's hard to find the words, but I'd like you to know that I… you've always been…" Benedict frowned, his head aching and words swimming in his head trying to form. Ada smiled gently "I know what you're trying to say, you don't need to tell me." He stared at her through red-rimmed eyes, her long brown hair and rounded face blurring in and out of focus. "You know, if you want me to stay here, I don't mind…" Benedict told her, letting the sentence hang. Ada looked down at her hands, visibly shaken by the offer Benedict had made. "You'd be giving up a life in which you could be rich. I couldn't ask you to do that for me." Staring into the dying firelight, Benedict shook his head "No, I couldn't face a life like that knowing you were still here working like a dog."

For a moment, Ada looked hurt, almost as if Benedict had insulted her, then she nodded suddenly, her jaw set. "Fine, I understand. If it's like that then…" She stopped, Benedict's hand was clamped over her mouth. Despite his fear of what she might have been about to say, he had let his drilled reflexes drop. There were footsteps outside, and the sounds of horses. Ada's eyes were wide, her lips were trembling against Benedict's hand. "Get out of here, go upstairs and out of the window!" he whispered, seeing her hesitate and propelling her towards the ladder-stair that lead to the upper floors.

Half dragging half carrying Ada, Benedict pushed open the door to Robert and Harris's rooms. "Harris, HARRIS!" he barked, knowing from the sounds of footsteps and hushed talking downstairs that a search was beginning. "What's gotten into you? I was having a dream…" Benedict cut Robert's quip short with a glare. "Harris, you were worried people might be after you. No, don't try and argue or ask why, just listen! Those people seem to have caught up with us."

No sooner had he spoken, Harris was up, grabbing his weapons, no longer guarded by Benedict and Robert, and passing Benedict's spear across to him. "How many are there?" he spoke urgently, footsteps were already sounding in the stairs, and the first door of the corridor was kicked down. "No idea, lots." Benedict hissed back, looking desperately for a way to get Ada out. "Ada? How do we get out of this place?" he said, struggling to keep his voice low. "You can get out onto the stable roof, the windows at the end of the corridor, but they're out there already!" she replied, her statement proved by a kick to the door.

Robert put his back to it, holding it against breaking "They know we're in here, it's the last door!" He swore as a sword smashed through the woodwork, barely an inch from his head. "Shit!" he cried, leaping backwards and avoiding the blade of an axe the smashed exactly where his back had been a moment ago. The door collapsed inwards, one half falling flat on the floor, the other swinging crazily on its remaining hinge. "Harris, I hope you weren't lying when you said you could fight." Robert yelled, jumping forwards and dodging the axe of the first man through the door. "Come on Harris, we have to hold them in the doorway." Benedict cried, shoving his spear into the stomach of the temporarily staggered axe wielder. The man crumpled in the doorway, immediately replaced by a wiry man with a short sword. Faced with the three adolescent fighters, he backed up, but was held in place by the crush of men behind him. His problems ended when Harris proved his earlier boast, whirling a finely crafted rapier round his guard and into his throat. "We'll have to fight our way out eventually!" He cried, but more men moved in, and he was silenced as he concentrated on survival.

**August 5th: Episode 17**

Blood sprayed into Benedict's face, blinding him momentarily. He jumped backwards in reflex, wondering how Master had managed to fight blind all his life. Running his hand across his face, he regained his vision to witness another man fall bloodily to the floor, another image that would slither into his nightmares. He ducked a knife that was thrown into the room, and momentarily ignored the fight to push Ada out of range of missiles. Turning back he shoved the butt of his spear into a thickly built man who held a heavy broadsword, admiring Harris's careful technique as he finished the man off.

"Ada, can you get out of that window?" He shouted above the screams of one of the fallen men. She looked at the window, about the size of a dinner plate "I seriously doubt it." Benedict ducked a swipe and thought furiously. They had to make it to the end of the corridor; from there they could get to the stable roof and make their way down to the horses in there. "Let's get out of the room, quickly! We'll make for the window!" Benedict shouted, then he kicked viciously at a man who was dodging his spear thrusts, jumping after him into the doorway.

For a moment Benedict was standing alone facing the men outside the door, there was room for five of them at once, all facing Benedict, alone in the doorway. He jumped backwards, narrowly avoiding the slashes that were aimed at him. "Shit! There's no way through. We'll have to all charge out together!" he cried, but even as he spoke he knew it was stupid. There was no way they could all break out together, there was room for one person at a time, and that person would have to fight to make room for the others. Robert stepped towards the door, sidestepping a stab and killing the attacker, "Alright, my weapon is best suited to clearing spaces, both of you have thrusting weapons, you won't clear them fast enough." Benedict followed a stab from Harris with a thrust form his spear, "No way am I letting you risk your neck." He growled, but Robert ignored him, and grimly he stepped over the bodies in the doorway and roared his defiance, whirling his sword in an arc in front of him.

He slashed wildly, employing every technique he had learned at the academy to dodge, parry and kill. For a moment Benedict could see nothing but Robert, standing tall and proud, spinning and ducking, and it was clear why Benedict had only been the second best fighter at the academy. Then blood flew in a shocking cloud of scarlet, rushing through the doorway like the dead of Benedict's dreams, accusing, hating and burning. He heard the voices of those corpses moaning at him as if he were asleep "You don't deserve to survive, you weren't meant to survive!" and the blood hit him like a wave. Red blood. Robert's blood.

A sob sounded in the silence that filled that moment. Realisation dawned, the sob had come from his own throat, harsh and ragged. Benedict's vision blurred, then came red, tinged by the gore surrounding him. He refused to believe it. Surely fate could not be so cruel as to take his friend, his best friend. He shook his head violently, sending a cloud of blood flying in droplets around him. "Robert!" he screamed, and he leapt forwards, crashing into two men still standing from the onslaught that Robert had delivered. Regardless of the danger, Benedict threw himself into battle.

**August 6th: Episode 18**

For a moment Benedict thought he had been stabbed again, but he realised it was just his old wound protesting at the strain he was putting it through. He was untouched, for the time being. Alone, facing two men side by side, he let his fury and pain take hold and drive him to feats of combat that he thought he could not achieve. He ducked a blade and punched an adversary squarely in the stomach, the man doubled over vomiting, and his friend backed up. Seeing the opening, Harris leapt from the doorway, his face grim and set but nowhere near the mask of fury that shrouded Benedict's usually gentle features.

Looking down the corridor he saw nothing but a heaving mass of fighters waiting to get at them. Combat was pointless, he knew it; only flight would allow them to live. But escaping was not as easy as it had seemed. They were near to the window, but getting out of it was another matter entirely, moving backwards, Harris pulled on Benedict's arm, desperately trying to clear the mist of hatred that held Benedict over Robert's twitching body. "We have to move back!" he shouted hopelessly. Benedict wouldn't listen, he simply stood, dealing death to the now hesitant enemy before them.

"God help us." He muttered to himself, seeing Benedict move forwards to meet an enemy who refused to take the offensive. "Ada help him see sense! He's gone mad." Harris shouted through the doorway. Ada sat cowering in the room, her eyes shut tight. Harris understood, blood was not an easy thing to cope with, especially when splattered so liberally over every visible surface. Abandoning any hope of snapping Benedict out of his madness, Harris grabbed Robert by the scruff of the neck. "I know you're still alive Robert! You have to get us out of this mess!" he screamed down his ear. Robert's mouth opened a little. "It hurts…" he whispered as his hand slid off his chest, revealing a deep jagged gash that went from his upper torso down to his hip. "Oh sweet lord. Robert please listen to me, please! If you have any strength left to make your sacrifice useful, try and shout to Benedict, please try!" Harris said desperately.

Robert's eyes rolled upwards, and for a moment he looked possessed with the Master's dead spirit as the white of his eyes showed. Then he opened his mouth and shouted "Benedict? I seem to be feeling a little…" he paused to cough up blood, "… a little faint. I don't suppose you would care to open the window and let in some fresh air for me?" The effect was instant, Benedict's head snapped around, even as he kicked his current foe backwards with an audible crash.

"He's alive!" he roared, turning his back to the crush of fighters and sprinting down the corridor. He grabbed Robert's limp body in one arm, and Harris's arm in the other and threw himself through the air; the shutters of the window flew outwards and a cloud of wafer thin shards of glass followed them. Benedict soared in the centre of them, horizontal; Robert's bleeding body leaving a trail of droplets to tint the air behind. Harris, his arm released just before the wild leap, followed less gracefully, perhaps more sensibly, and landed knees bent on the stable roof in time to see Benedict and Robert crash into the rotting straw of the stable roof, through it, and down into the blackness below.

**August 7th: Episode 19**

Knives flew through the air and thudded into soft straw, bouncing and falling like a rain of misused cutlery. None found their mark. Harris had half rolled, half dived after his friends into the musty, horsy darkness of the closed stable. Luck was on their side that day, the entire room was filled with inches of straw and horse manure intermingled with dead rodents. It was an unpleasant landing, but it was soft and the ceiling was low. They were alive.

A familiar whinny came from the darkness, and Harris moved blindly towards it. "Benedict? Are you there?" he whispered to the strange silence. "I'm here…" came the reply, half choke half sob. In the half light, Harris made out three shapes, the larger one of his dark and muscled steed, another of a kneeling shaking figure, and lastly a motionless body. "Hello Harris, I…" Robert coughed wetly, his sentence cut short. A sob came from the kneeling figure. "Robert, damn you Robert!" Benedict wept. "What's… wrong?" Robert gurgled back. "It's that joke you made up there in the corridor." Benedict said, his voice barely under control "It was pathetic, I expected better of you, Robert old chap." Then he broke down into tears again.

"Benedic" Robert hissed, blood filling his torn lungs. "… I… I guess someone… else… managed to get… the last… laugh." He chuckled, the sound was strong and brave, almost as if Robert was still sitting casually on his bed at the academy, waiting for Benedict to get up. But the chuckle turned into a cough, then gurgled away. Robert had died. "Robert…" Benedict whispered, his voice inaudible, the sounds of running feet to the stable door drowning it out. "You just died laughing, I think it's safe to say, that the last laugh was quite literally… yours!"

Then he stood up. "Harris, make haste! We'll be here forever and a day if you don't get a move on!" he shouted, imitating Robert's dubious humour of a few days back, when he was still alive. "I'm ready, come on!" Harris shouted above the sounds of running and yelling outside. Benedict picked up his spear, lying on the floor next to Robert, then with the other arm lifted Robert's bleeding corpse onto his shoulder. "Can this horse manage to take Robert's weight?" he asked, lifting himself onto the horse, who shook and shivered with fear at the sudden burst of moonlight from the opening stable doors. "Who cares?" Harris shouted back "We aren't leaving his body here."

The doors were fully opened, and at least forty men stood, peering into the darkness, trying to distinguish their prey from the shapes of other horses in the darkness. "Alright then Harris, get the hell out of here!" Benedict roared, his shout echoing around the stable, coming from all directions at once. The men raced in, searching for the source of the shout, and Harris slapped the horse's side, spurring it into a full gallop. The men scattered like leaves before the flying hooves, and lashing out with their feet and weapons, Benedict and Harris broke through and, clinging to the speeding animal, they soared away into the night, leaving behind them a trail of hoof prints and blood. The blood that Robert no longer needed, that now seeped out of him in the last few trickles. Blood staining the ground of his final victory, the place where he indisputably had the last laugh.

**August 8th: Episode 20**

The horse brayed loudly, protesting at the heavy weight it was being forced to carry. The steeds of the Harlaushian nobility were bred for speed and manoeuvrability, not as pack horses. The dead weight of all their supplies and the more literally dead weight of Robert were too much for it. "We'll need to find a place to stop soon." Harris said over his shoulder "I don't think the horse can hold this pace much longer."

Benedict shrugged; he couldn't care less whether their enemies caught up with them, his mind was wandering back over the years he and Robert had spent together. He remembered the first day at the academy, he had passed every test of strength and dexterity that could be thrown at him, despite his background he held a respect born of fear from all of the new recruits at the academy; sons of nobles, a few daughters too, from the Calradian steppes where women were prized as fighters. He and Robert had been drawn together, not only by their similar fighting ability, but also by the way their personalities complemented each other. Robert, ever joking and getting into trouble, Benedict serious and loyal; they seemed to match each other well.

In time their friendship grew deeper than simple companionship; their friendly rivalry had pushed them to develop their already above average combat abilities. Their status as a duo meant that anyone who had an issue with either of them was forced to take it up with both. In a way it was together that they had come to dominate the attentions of the academy.

The bond between them had only ever grown stronger; even when Harris and Robert had bickered childishly, Benedict still felt loyal friendship for him. As they had travelled together and survived the hardships of an unfamiliar world, their combined abilities had proved more than a match for the complicated task of travelling and surviving. When Robert had risked his life to pull Benedict from the flames of the academy, he had essentially sealed Benedict's already unflinching loyalty.

And now he was gone. Once again Robert had saved Benedict's skin, selflessly. The haunting voices of his dreams rose up, mocking, in Benedict's mind. "You don't deserve to survive!" they whispered. And deep down, Benedict feared that they were right. What had he ever done but allow others to fight for him? In the academy he had found himself protected until the last moment, when fighting alone against the monk he had allowed himself to be dominated and beaten. When the whole building was burning, he had needed Robert to save him. And now Robert had thrown his own life away to save Benedict!

"Let's stop here." Harris said, slowing the horse to a stop and breaking Benedict out of his thoughts. The horse, once stationary, collapsed in a steaming heap, foam dribbling from its mouth. "Yeah…" Benedict's head was whirling, shame and self pity conflicted in a sudden maelstrom of thought. "Harris." he said slowly, "I… I know you and Robert didn't always get on, but… from now on I'm going to protect you. I think Robert would have wanted me… to keep you alive. He died to… keep me alive and he'd… he'd want me to do like him, and…" he stopped, frustrated at his inability to express his emotions, his inability to tell Harris that protecting him was the only way he could keep the voices out of his dreams, keep himself sane.


	5. Chapter 5

**August 9th: Episode 21**

"Listen" Harris said sternly, "Robert didn't hate me, or even dislike me. This night, before we went to sleep he told me that he was sorry for what he had said to me, that he had come to respect me and… and that that was thanks to you! He was telling me about how much he owed to you, how you always kept him in line and stopped his prejudices and idiosyncrasies from pushing people away from him. So stop thinking his sacrifice was pure selflessness, stop thinking that you gave nothing and always took everything." His face was almost angry, his eyes were red rimmed and his voice choked with emotion. Benedict saw in Harris's eyes a respect for both him and Robert in equal amounts.

"Harris… I don't think Robert knew what an idiosyncrasy was." Benedict smiled, then seeing the cloud of anger returning to Harris's face he spoke quickly "No, honestly. I know what you mean Harris. I know that Robert needed me as much as I needed him, but I just feel that I'm always letting things happen, letting others throw themselves in harm's way for me. Please understand, it isn't easy for me to just accept that Robert felt indebted to me, rather than the other way around. All I ask is that I be allowed to start acting, rather than letting others act for me."

Harris stood for a moment, taking in what Benedict had said. Then he nodded and said "I understand, Benedict." He walked over to the horse, who was slowly moving, still shivering from exertion. "Please, let's bury Robert here." He gestured around the clearing, the thick loamy soil and arrogant trees growing around a simple round pool. "We shouldn't be dragging his body around, it's dangerous for our health, and it's an extra weight we shouldn't be carrying." He raised a hand to stop the cry of rage Benedict was about to give "Think, would Robert really have wanted us dragging his body around, especially when it's such a risk for us!" Benedict shook his head, knowing that Harris was right. "Alright, you take care of the horse, get it ready to ride. I'll dig a grave." He said with finality, as though accepting to dig a grave was like accepting that Robert was truly gone.

Harris busied himself with pouring water over the horse and letting it drink copious amounts, Benedict solemnly took Robert's heavy bastard sword and stabbed it point first into the soil by the poolside. The soil was soft and easy to work; Robert's sword cut it soundlessly. Soon, Benedict was gouging out large square chunks of soil, ripping tree roots aside and dragging out small rocks until a rectangle of bear earth lay nearly knee deep.

"Harris, you should lay him down with me. You were his friend too." Benedict said, when he had taken the body in his arms and stood over the grave. Harris nodded, and wordlessly they lay him in the soil and crossed his arms over his chest. Then they straightened his leather protection and covered up the gaping hole in his chest. Slowly, they pushed small piles of earth into the grave, covering his feet, then his chest and finally packing it around his head. Oddly, Benedict felt they should leave his face to the open, and so they left a hole in the ground, allowing the sunlight to fall on his head.

Benedict knelt on the grave and allowed a tear to fall onto Robert's face, then he took the sword, blunted from cutting through the earth, and ran it across his hand, allowing the blood to drip onto the mound of soil. Then, voicing a prayer, he took the sword and drove it into the earth down to the hilt. "Goodbye" he said solemnly, and he turned, feeling as though he had done all he could.

**August 10th: Episode 22**

Sorrel was a mercenary bandit, a man for hire. He did whatever people asked him to do, as long as he was rewarded with money. What he didn't like was contracts like the one he had now. He was paid a fixed amount, and for a fixed time had to do whatever he was told. It was much better when his skills were put to use for short jobs, like murders, or jobs where he was simply paid for every service he provided.

Had he been on one of those jobs, he would have demanded a good few denars for what he was doing now. Scouting, he was proud to admit, was one of his many talents. He could track both humans and horses with a skill that came from years as a hunter's apprentice. In fact, scouting and tracking were so high in his list of talents, that he was often employed purely as a scout. This usually equated to easy money in his head, but sadly right now it was both lacking money and safety. To sum things up, he was tracking a party of three people, one severely injured, all on one horse, but he wasn't being paid.

The actual tracking was fairly easy; the horse was obviously tired, judging by the frequent skid marks and occasional imprint where it had fallen over. The problem was that he could stumble across them at any moment, and he had no way of telling when that might be. His instructions were strict, he was to follow these people's tracks, and leave a trail that was easy to follow for the rest of the party, if he encountered them, he was not to engage, but to continue to mark their trail. It would have been a fairly sound plan, had it not been for one detail. In order to lay the trail, he had to tie a flail to his horse's backside! To his employers it seemed like a good way to lay an obvious trail, to Sorrel it was a good way to make as much noise as possible, alerting anyone who happened to have half an ear that Sorrel the tracker was heading this way, please ambush him if you feel like it!

Swallowing his discontent, Sorrel found himself in a clearing where his quarry had obviously stopped to take some rest. He cast his gaze over the tracks and prints left around, looking for the continuation of the trail. He got off his horse to take a closer look at the ground, trying to spot a telltale broken leaf or hoof print along the edges of the clearing that might lead him onwards. Strangely enough, he was so absorbed in his study of the ground that he barely noticed the mass of disturbed earth until he tripped on it.

Cursing, Sorrel lay on the ground for a moment, catching his breath. Oddly enough, his head seemed to be resting on the edge of some kind of hole. He lifted it out, brushing off the dirt that had stuck to his hair, and peered down it, straining in the dim light of the evening to see what was down there. It was no use; it was too dark to see. Sorrel made to stand up, but for some reason he felt compelled to find out what was hidden down that hole. Shaking his head at his own stubborn stupidity, he put his hand down it, trying to find out how deep it went.

It wasn't too deep, in fact it was barely two feet. Feeling around, his hand brushed something cold and smooth. Odd, what could it be? It was hard and cool, perhaps some sort of metal? His eyes glinted greedily in the dying light, perhaps it was buried treasure! He laughed at his own stupidity, who would bury treasure two feet deep in an open hole? Feeling around again, he discovered something soft and lumpy, sticking out, then further up some sort of cavity.

Moving his hand to the very edge of the pit he recoiled shivering, there was hair too! Wiping his hand frantically on his shirt, he peered down the hole. A ray of light from the sunset fell through the trees into the clearing, Sorrel jumped backwards, screaming in superstitious terror. There was a face down that hole! A body! He walked backwards across the clearing, the darkness suddenly making him jumpy. Thoughts of demons and ghouls whirled through his head, fears of his childhood, tales told around a campfire of encounters with the supernatural. He clenched his fists to stop the shaking, and hurried to the edge of the clearing, looking for the trail so he could be out of the clearing as fast as possible.

In the grave the face was motionless, but to someone looking carefully, it might seem in the rapidly fading light that it was wearing a particularly smug smile. But of course the only person in the clearing at the time was currently mounting his horse and fleeing as fast as he could. So no-one would ever know if the face was really smirking, or whether it was just an effect of the shadows.

**August 11th: Episode 23**

The first light of dawn shone through the trees, lighting the way and banishing some of the fears that had plagued Sorrel through the night. The dead couldn't walk at night, he should be safe. And now with the forest floor lit up he could clearly see the tracks that he had strained his eyes so hard to find during the long night. He was still on the trail of his quarry, but their tracks had gotten somewhat shallower, as if they had dropped some weight along the way.

He shrugged; too pleased about feeling the warmth of day to care about the whys and wherefores of what was basically a crap job. He spurred his horse into a fast trot. He could afford to go a little faster now he could see clearly.

It was an hour later that Sorrel noticed the trees thinning and the undergrowth becoming sparser. Good, he would finally get out of this bloody forest of strange burials and whispering wind. He looked back over his shoulder. The plants beneath his horse's feet were well torn and crushed by the flail still tied to it, it was a good trail, he realised, but once out of the forest his quarry would become harder to track. He hurried his horse, deciding to catch up with whoever he was chasing as fast as he could.

Sorrel stopped, the flail rattling loudly behind him, the tracks had stopped! He got off his horse warily, walking in a crouch, scanning the ground for some indication of where they had gone. He got to his knees and scrutinised the leaves near where the tracks ended.

There was something, he decided, someone had gotten off the horse and led it on through the trees which was why the tracks were suddenly so hard to find, but he was chasing three people. Where had the other two gotten to? Standing up, but still keeping his head bent, he walked back to the place where he had left his own horse. Ah! There was another trail! Following it, Sorrel lost it at the base of a tree; a tree which, had he been looking up, he would have noticed was particularly easy to climb.

In fact, had he been looking up, Sorrel would also have seen a few broken branches in the tree, and he would also have seen a dark shape jumping down off the tree and landing on him. But he wasn't looking up, so he was only aware of the dark shape when it landed on his back, pinned him to the floor and raised a spear to strike.

Sorrel's last thoughts were that the body from the grave had followed him through the night and was taking its revenge, only he saw in the eyes of his aggressor something that resembled… pity? Then he died of a spear through the skull. His fear from the night before had dulled his instincts, and he had almost forgotten his fear that the clattering flail would give him away to the people he was tracking.

Benedict stood up and wiped the blood off his spearhead. He had of course considered that this might be a decoy, a lure to put them off the scent of a larger, more skilled scouting party. But Harris was looking around, and so far Benedict had not heard any warning shout to alert him. Shrugging, Benedict assumed that the man who was tracking them was simply an incompetent fool, and he untied the flail that was hanging off his poor horse's tail and led it away. At least now they would be able to give Harris's horse a break.

**August 12th: Episode 24**

"There's nobody around" Harris laughed, shaking his head. "This man must have been a complete fool, or else they have some extremely skilled hiders out there." He looked at the corpse of the little man. "Oh god! I hope he wasn't just an innocent person following us out of interest."

Benedict shook his head. "No he wasn't, I found this in his pocket." He extended his hand towards Harris, a fairly new piece of parchment held in it. "I can't read what's in it, but I'm pretty sure that's a contract of some sort." Scanning the page with an ease that made Benedict a little jealous, Harris nodded his head, confirming what Benedict had suspected. "Yes, this is indeed a contract. Apparently this man is a skilled scout, he was certainly paid a decent sum of money for his job. Sadly however, there is no information about those who may be tracking us. Whoever wrote this contract must have been very careful not to reveal any information." He passed it back to Benedict. "Here see there… oh, I'm sorry! I forgot you couldn't read." He blushed, much to Benedict's surprise, at his tactless mistake. But Benedict couldn't have cared less about the differences in the educations he and Harris had received. He had spent yet another sleepless night, although not from bad dreams this time, but from spending the whole night riding on an uncomfortably bony horse.

"Anyway, there's no sense in staying here. We have another horse; we should put what baggage we can onto this one and be off." Harris declared, lifting a sack of bread over the heavily built, brown horse that they had inherited off the tracker. Benedict stood, rubbing his eyes. "We can afford to leave some of our supplies behind now that… Robert…" he sighed at the memory, and made a silent promise to locate Robert's family and tell them where he was buried. He was certain they would want him moved to the family tomb, wherever that was.

Harris smiled sympathetically. "Come on, you'll feel better once we're off on the road." Benedict nodded glumly, torn between sorrow and exhaustion. What was now nearly a week of constant exertion without sleep was taking a huge toll on him. Resigning himself to yet more effort, he pulled himself into the well worn saddle of their new horse.

"Let's go then" he yawned, slapping the horse's rump, urging into a fast trot. He decided he would have to try and sleep in the saddle and brave the nightmares; he could barely hold his eyes open. Tying his horse's reins to Harris's, he allowed his horse to be pulled along. The gentle rocking beneath him lulled him to sleep in an instant, his last thought was that he would wake up with muscles aching like hell, then he slumped forward over the large brown neck of his horse and slept.

For a few blissful minutes, Benedict slept without dreams or nightmares, a welcome blackness devoid of bloody corpses. In a way, the feeling of actual rest was so alien that Benedict almost rejected it subconsciously. In trying, in his half sleeping thoughts, not to think of nightmares, they inevitably came. At first he saw a familiar face, some boy from the academy. It would have been fairly un-extraordinary, had the head been connected to a body. But the waterfall of blood coming from the severed neck was nothing ordinary. As if sparking off a fire of images, hundreds of dead bodies rose up in the darkness. All screaming and accusing. Bloodied hands pointed menacingly, people he had barely known presented him with faults that his most intimate friends barely knew.

More faces kept coming, half remembered people he had known as a child, their faces pocked with the plague that had killed them. Victims of his recent combat in the inn shouted angrily, blaming him, asking him why he had to end their lives. Benedict was dimly aware of being grateful that neither his parents nor Robert had risen to accuse him before his fear came true. Robert came from the darkness, his face contorted with rage. "No" Benedict moaned "Please, it wasn't my fault… Please!"

**August 13th: Episode 25**

Robert turned, his sword drawn. "I know, don't worry." He whispered, then he charged into the seething mass of bodies, his blade gleaming from some unseen source of light. Limbs flew in a halo around him; the dead fell down into the darkness that had spawned them. Soon Robert was lost to sight in a heaving mountain of vengeful memories.

Wracked with guilt, Benedict cried out for Robert to come back, to let Benedict fight his own battles. It was too late, the movement stopped for a moment, Robert's body was revealed as the lines of ghouls moved aside to better display their grisly work. He lifted his face slowly, blood oozing outwards in a puddle around him. "Wake up Benedict. The time for dreaming is over. Someone is coming. Wake up!"

"Wake up!" Harris shouted. Benedict's eyes opened, his surroundings were unfamiliar. Open grassland stretched out as far as he could see, far behind him, just visible over the crest of a hill, the tops of trees swayed in a breeze that swept in from the south, bringing smells of earth and horses. "What? Where are we?" Benedict muttered sleepily.

"Out of the forest." Harris replied, dismissing the question. "But you were thrashing about for hours, I couldn't wake you no matter what I did!" He looked genuinely worried, Benedict realised. Touched as he was by his friend's concern, he sensed more than just comradeship behind the frown his friend was wearing. "Harris? What's wrong?" he asked.

"I've been hearing horses behind us." replied Harris. "I think someone is following us, that's why I was so worried that I couldn't wake you." They crested another hill, giving them a clear view both before and behind them. To the south, where they were heading, lay only arid steppe, and a hint of wood smoke that indicated a large settlement somewhere. Behind them lay the vast Harlaushian forests. Dotted with clearings and small wisps of mist still rising out of the wooded valleys, it was clear why Harlaushia was known as the Land of Trees.

But the geography of his homeland was not what was foremost in Benedict's thoughts. Dust swirled in the air between the forest and them, dust kicked up by horses. "Oh no! They're catching us up!" he cried. "Harris! We need to move quickly. We'll kill the horses if we really have to, but we need to get to that settlement to the south, if we can make it there we can hope that the town guard will protect us. Whoever these people are, they obviously aren't in the employ of the royal family. If we manage to reach safety though, I'm going to want some explanations from you."

Harris nodded "You're right; I've kept you in the dark too long. If we make it to the town I'll explain as much as I can to you. Until then, let's go!" They turned to face forwards, and Benedict unhooked his horse's reins. Harris gave a sharp kick to his steed's ribs, urging it forwards. Benedict however turned in his saddle again. A lone rider was charging up the hillside towards them. "Ada!" he cried. His heart leaping with joy, and then fear as the reasons and dangers of her being there hit him. "What… how?" he said as she drew level with him. "No time to talk" she yelled breathlessly, her hair plastered across her face as she galloped past Benedict. "They're right behind me!"


	6. Chapter 6

**August 14th: Episode 26**

The first few riders appeared at the crest of the hill, their weapons drawn and their horses thundering. The pillar of dust had melted into a cloud that shifted in currents, tugged and pulled by the wind. For a mad moment, as Benedict still sat looking over his shoulder, he considered fighting. Then a huge wave of riders, roaring battle shouts, galloped over the hilltop and added their individual dust clouds to the thick broiling mist that was even then beginning to sting at Benedict's eyes.

Abandoning any hope of fighting such odds, he urged his horse forwards, gripping the reins grimly as he was shaken and jostled by the rippling muscles and jumping bones beneath him. Ahead of him two wakes of flying dirt disguised what he knew to be Ada and Harris. Behind him… well he wasn't going to risk slowing down to see what he could already hear. Thundering hooves that pounded the crusted layer of steppe and released the loose earth beneath upwards into the smog that, even now, hounded Benedict's heels.

It was like trying to outrun a storm, a rumbling storm that chased you with the speed of the wind. Reluctant to fall into the cloud that held sharp steel concealed in its folds, Benedict urged his horse ever faster, trying to keep ahead of the dust, as if once he had fallen into it he could no longer escape it.

Soon he was riding side by side with Ada, her face pale and her jaw set. He shouted at her, urging her to hurry, but his words were lost in the constant crashing of hooves over ground. Risking a glance behind him, Benedict glimpsed nothing more than a few glints of steel behind them. Turning to concentrate on reaching the now substantial column of wood smoke that marked the border-fort of St Sarisa, he glimpsed more flashes in the air. Arrows.

The thunder of hooves was mixed in with the deadly hiss of projectiles. Flattening himself against his horse, he reached out to Ada, still galloping beside him, and pushed her flat too. He was just in time. A hail of arrows thudded and span all around him, ricocheting off rocks and grazing his horse's flank. Wildly, he looked behind him, and saw another barrage of missiles fly at them. They missed him by mere inches, one pinging off the head of his spear, another lodging itself, quivering, in his saddle.

Shaking with rage at being unable to face up to his unseen enemies, he kept himself low, hugging the heaving chest of his horse and trusting his leather protection to keep off the worst of the blows.

Harris's horse was in its element; relieved of its burden, it was galloping at breakneck speed. The wind whipped the young noble's hair back in a stream of black. Foam flew in frothing lumps from the mouth of the hardy steed. In the near euphoria, Harris almost forgot to look back to see if his friends were holding up well. Turning carefully, gripping tightly with his knees, he looked around in time to see The cloud of dust engulf both Benedict and Ada, obscuring them from his view.

Shaking his head at the folly of what he was about to do, he pulled hard on the reins of his horse, effecting an impressive turn in mid-gallop and charged towards the smog to help his friends.

**August 15th: Episode 27**

For a moment they could see nothing but the blinding, stinging wall of dust. Then it wrapped itself around them, pulling them inwards, dragging them to its ravenous stomach full of sharp weapons. Unable to see anything but the vague shape of Ada low across her mount, Benedict felt despair grip him hard. He could see shafts of sunlight breaking through the wall of the cloud, but it seemed like a distance that would only grow larger as he strived to cross it.

Feeling, rather than seeing, another volley of arrows, he mustered all his knowledge of riding to try and urge his horse to go faster. But it was no use. Already they had been galloping flat out for almost fifteen minutes, their horses were steaming visibly from exertion, even through the smoke that obscured Benedict's view. Wiping the slick sweat of his horse off on his leg, he fought to get a better grip and hope that they could outrun their pursuers, as they had failed to outrun the cloud that preceded them.

It was not to be so. At his side, Benedict saw a sword raised for attack, a rider and his mount visible beyond it as a murky stain. Abandoning his grip on his horse, he slid his spear out of its sheath and held it ready. If there was one thing the academy had not taught, it was horse combat. A multitude of martial disciplines were taught and developed under that ragged roof, but Harlaushia was not a country of cavalry fighters, and so Benedict never learnt to fight from horseback.

When he received a jarring blow to his spear haft, he sincerely wished he had. Struggling to maintain his balance, he delivered a jab to his attacker's torso, missing badly. He took advantage of the range his spear offered, using it to force the rider away from him, but he knew he was outmatched. As if sensing victory, the rider moved towards Benedict, sword held defensively, face obscured by streaming dust, and sent a tentative swipe at him.

He blocked it, barely, and countered clumsily, a thrust which would have caused hardly any damage, even had it connected. But it missed, and as he drew it back towards himself, Benedict felt a tug on the end of it. His opponent was trying to take his weapon! He pulled madly, desperate at the thought of losing his only defence against the sea of foes that even now were catching up with him. At the threat of overbalancing, he leant backwards and dragged on it with all his might. He felt the spear give a little, then a scream rent the fierce sea of dust and his enemy tumbled to the ground, his body snapping and spinning as he hit it with all the momentum of a galloping horse.

Benedict too overbalanced, he dropped the spear in his haste to find a handhold, and falling backwards in dismay, he felt himself slip over the saddle to the earth, blurred by the speed it was hurtling past. He stopped in mid-fall, seeing for a moment only the dust that surrounded him. Then he blinked furiously to clear his eyes and saw Ada next to him, straining as she pushed him back into his saddle.

He nodded gratefully, his heart thumping, and looked around. The man he had engaged had been faster than the rest, reaching him like the first spray of a wave. But a thundering horde followed, more riders than Benedict could count in the billowing dust. The first riders reached them, their horses straining to keep pace. Benedict reached for his spear then, in dismay, realised he had lost it when he was falling. He was defenceless and the first of his enemies was upon him.

**August 16th: Episode 28**

Ada was just ahead of him, defenceless as he, ducking and weaving as best she could from her precarious position on horseback. Dodging a well aimed arrow by flattening himself against his horse, Benedict slid down on the side of his saddle, his legs dangling dangerously above the ground rushing past. He was just in time, a lance filled the space he had just been in, its point coated in metal and sharpened. Pulling himself back into a safe position, Benedict kicked his horse viciously, fighting back a guilty pang at this bad treatment, and felt it speed up a little, something that would probably cost it its life later on.

His pursuers matched him however, and he leant backwards to dodge another thrust from the lance, at the same time as he batted aside a sword point with his leather bracer. He realised then, as he fought to hold onto the saddle, that it was probably hopeless. He had no way out of this situation, no way to tell his foes that he had been caught up in this whole story by pure chance. He was a victim of circumstances, and he felt a pang of anger at Harris for leading him into this.

Where was Harris anyway? Had he already reached the city gates? They couldn't be too far now could they? Annoyed at his friend's absence at a time when he would be the only one who could fight, Benedict stared at the light streaming into the dust cloud, resigning himself to the next blow that would kill him.

A dark shape formed in the rays of light, taking form quickly until it was sharply silhouetted outside the wall of dust. Then it burst through, and Harris was there, his rapier raised in an elegant and deadly striking position. He blurred as he passed Benedict, then a scream came above the thunder of hooves. A thud was heard as a horse collapsed behind him, then it cartwheeled past him, spinning from the force of its impact with the floor.

More clashing and shouting came behind him, and soon Benedict could see nobody beside him. An arrow whined past his ear, but he ignored it, thinking only of Harris's approach. They might make it; they were going to make it! Another horse rolled sickeningly along the ground, slowing under the repeated impacts.

It was a black horse, and for a horrifying, heart stopping moment Benedict thought it might be Harris's, but then Harris pulled level with him, his rapier bloodied but his eyes triumphant. Riding alongside Benedict, Ada just next to him, he led them through the wall of dust and they burst into brilliant sunshine, the gates of St Sarisa barely a minute's distance from them.

But the moment of triumph was ruined when their pursuers began to fire arrows at them again, no longer having to worry about hitting one of their own. The first volley pinged and whistled past them. One lodging painfully in the side of Benedict's chest, another, quivering violently, pinned itself cruelly into his horse's rib cage.

Harris looked at him worriedly, and they flattened themselves, hoping against hope that they would not be hit. But Ada sat high on her horse, staring dreamily at the fast nearing gates before them. Benedict threw his arm over her and forced her down just as an arrow sailed over her and lodged itself deeply into her horse's skull. It fell in a stream of dust and stones to the floor, dragging Ada down with it.

**August 17th: Episode 29**

Ada would have fallen to her death, had Benedict not been pinning her to her horse. He held onto her grimly, holding her, dangling by the back of her dress, above the track that lead through the gates. They had done it, they had reached St Sarisa.

A wall of soldiers stood before them, spears raised in a bristling formation unique to the Harlaushian military. Sagging, Benedict lifted Ada over his horse's back and prepared to meet the pointed ends that were blocking their entrance. They were going too fast; there was no way to stop before they were impaled. Yet Harris gave a sharp tug to his horse's reins, a gesture it understood and it leapt majestically over them, landing proudly on the other side, its head high.

In the last instant, Benedict imitated his friend, tugging sharply back on the reins. It worked; his horse gave a last protesting whinny and pushed itself up into the air. They sailed over two rows of soldiers looking upwards, amazed, then their horse collapsed on the ground, dead from exertion.

Ignoring the pain of the arrow in his chest for a moment, Benedict tugged Ada to her feet and looked out over the heads of the soldiers. The gates were being closed and outside a large group of horsemen stood in a vast cloud of dust that was rapidly fading in the strong northerly wind. They had done it!

Benedict stared into Ada's pale, shocked face and laughed "We did it! We got away!" then he looked down at his chest and saw the stream of blood coming out of it. Taking with it the adrenaline that had kept him going. He laughed weakly, then collapsed next to their dead horse.

When he woke up he was lying in a bristly bed, Harris was standing over him, his face concerned. "Oh thank goodness!" cried a voice next to him. Ada fell over him, sobbing. "I thought you were dead. I thought you'd gone and died on me!" Benedict patted her awkwardly and looked up at Harris. "What happened? How did I get here?" He said, confused but feeling his strength returning already.

Harris nodded and sat down next to him. "The guards knew me, I explained that we weren't leading the charge, as they thought we were, but running away." He shook his head "Sorry, let me start from the beginning. The guards saw that huge dust cloud our attackers caused and thought there was some bandit raid on the town. They prepared to meet them, putting the garrison on the walls and in the main street. But when we got close, they saw how many of them there were and decided to close the gates rather than risk a battle in the town.

"We just got through in time and in one piece, thanks to you grabbing Ada like that." Harris looked down proudly and Ada muttered some word of thanks that Benedict couldn't hear through her sobs. "In any case, once the guards recognised me, they let us go and find a healer, who patched you up and let us rest here. That's about all that I can say really, other than thank you for sticking with me all this time." Harris smiled weakly, almost apologetically, as if his heroic rescue in the dust cloud had never happened.

"Harris" Benedict asked, his voice low, worried. "You say the town guards recognised you. How come? I thought you were just a minor noble! Oh, and perhaps now that we're all reunited" he added, his voice rising "perhaps you'd like to finally explain to us why we almost got killed back there, why we're being chased by a small army and what the hell is going on here!" he stopped, his wound stinging painfully. Ada was silent now, staring worriedly from Harris to Benedict.

Harris nodded, his face set. "You're right. I've pulled you along on this long enough. I… I guess I owe it to you to explain everything, you're worthy of my trust." He sat down on a small stool by the bedside, his hands clenched as if he was about to do something very painful. "As you have probably guessed, I have been lying to you about a lot of things since I first met you. First of all, my real name is not Harris…" he paused and took a deep breath. "My real name is…"

**August 18th: Episode 30**

"My real name is Harlain, prince of Harlaushia." Everyone froze, their breaths held in tightly. "You… you're the prince?" Ada breathed. Benedict sat up slowly, wincing as his wound changed position. "Harris… or should I say Harlain." He smiled at the idea "Yes, Harlain. With all the respect I owe to you, I would be grateful if you would explain what is going on." He bowed his head, as if trying to make up for all the disrespect he might have shown before he knew Harris/Harlain was the prince.

"So you believed me? For a long time, I feared you might think I was lying when I came round to telling you. I suppose I should have known you would trust me." He smiled warmly "Oh, another thing. My family and friends all call me Harris, so don't worry about calling me Harlain. Oh yes, and don't worry about this 'my prince' rubbish. You've saved my life more than once; I would not allow you to treat me as royalty when you should know me only as a friend." His face grew darker "But I must explain now who those people are, and why they are following us… me.

"A while ago, the Master of the academy contacted me, telling how he had infiltrated a group of rebels who seek to overthrow my father and create a people's republic out of Harlaushia. He was evidently quite worried, his fellow warrior, Faenris the White was a member of this order, along with many other skilled fighters and tacticians. What he had thought at first to be an organisation of nobles seeking more power tuned out to be a well organised and extremely powerful brotherhood of so called 'Seekers of Justice'. The Seekers, as they are known, had decided that my father was not a good monarch. They saw poverty in the villages, starvation and squalor in the streets of the cities and decided it must be the hand of a tyrant that caused it.

"That tyrant was my father, is my father." He bowed his head "I must admit that as he grows older, father becomes more and more centred on petty intrigues and squabbles in the court. He had come to neglect his duties to the people, to ignore the fundamental necessities of ruling a country such as ours. The people, and I am sure you know this better than I, are truly being ignored.

"Anyhow, the seekers had formed together, an organisation comprised of both nobles and peasants. Although I'm sure the peasants are but a token few. They brought into action a plan that had been in development for over a year. The best assassins of all the known lands were hired and sent to the royal palaces, with the aim of killing every living heir to the royal family with one swift strike, leaving the king disorientated and vulnerable to a coup. Once this had been achieved, they would have claimed the throne, or rather transformed it into a different form of government, ruled over by members of their order.

"Their plan would have been a perfect success, had they not had a traitor in their midst, The Master of the Academy. Loyal to the royal family, he contacted us, telling us in detail of every single part of the plan he knew of. It was enough, I managed to escape thanks to a single weakness in the seekers' otherwise perfect network.

"Being an order of justice, they were not allowed to harm or kill any person who did not oppose them directly. You saw that at the academy, where they offered the children a chance to surrender and avoid being harmed. You saw it again at the inn, when Ada was allowed to go free. I used this to my advantage, employing a whore to be my impenetrable shield against their assassins; she was to be used as a shield while I made my escape out of the palace. She turned out to be in their employ, but it did not matter. I gained enough time to leap out of the window and escape on my horse, the one which I have been riding since."

Benedict interrupted "Harlain, now that you've explained that to us. Perhaps you could shed some light on your mysterious appearance at the academy. Maybe explain why the Master, who served the royal family, allowed over two hundred children to fight and die for him. I could have been amongst them. And also, while you account for that, explain how you arrived at the academy with perfect timing, finding a convenient bodyguard waiting for you. Did you know what was going to happen? Had you any idea what you were allowing to take place?" Benedict's voice had been rising again, steadily. He stopped angrily, a silence which filled the place his voice had been.

Harlain sighed mournfully. "I… I'm sorry Benedict… I knew what the Master was planning to do…" He looked at his hands with sorrow, as if examining some phantom blood that stained them. "Then our time together is over!" Benedict shouted.


	7. Chapter 7

I'm sorry to say that this is where I got a little bored of writing due to lack of comments on the forum I was on. Perhaps someday I'll rewrite these chapters... who knows.

Anyway, sorry about the decrease in quality from about chapter 33.

August 19th: Episode 31

"Please Benedict. Hear me out!" Harlain said desperately. "I knew what the Master was planning, but I had no idea he was going to use the children to defend himself. All I knew was that he was going to ensure that I had a bodyguard. The plan was, from the very beginning, that he would try his best to survive. Failing that, he would make sure that I was escorted by the most able fighter after him. That was Robert. Had Robert been killed, it would have been you. But I promise you, I had no idea that he was going to use the… the children to defend himself!"

"Of course…" Benedict muttered "It all makes sense now. The whole damned plan! The Master knew he had been found out, that they would come to kill him, so he organised the pupils of the academy like soldiers. The weak, the children, were fodder. They went first, and then the second year, and so on. It was the perfect way to weed out the weaker ones and ensure only the strongest survived. Of course I have no doubt he hoped that casualties would be kept to a minimum, but he had no regrets about letting everyone die for him anyway. And when he was fighting with that man, Faenris, and he realised he was going to lose. His first thought was to come and save Robert from the man he was fighting, he threw his knives, leaving himself defenceless, but he knew that, being an order of justice, the Seekers would not kill Robert, since he was only an innocent bystander.

"Of course I was unimportant, he didn't bother to kill the man who was attacking me, I simply was lucky enough to have a merciful opponent." Benedict shook his head "I suppose you should count yourself lucky to have had such a loyal servant. So loyal he thought nothing of selling his own soul to save your life." He laughed bitterly "I suppose you could call it blind loyalty.

"But you knew Harris! You may not have realised it quite clearly, but had you even bothered to think for a moment, you would have seen clearly what the Master's intentions were. You were conveniently blind to the truth…" He shook his head in disgust, the bitter taste of a betrayal burning like acid in the pit of his stomach. "And to think I risked my life for you. I don't suppose you ever cared when we put our lives on the line without knowing why?" he spat

"No! That isn't true Benedict! You know perfectly well that I would have given my life to save yours at any moment. When I saved you and Ada, I was risking my life! I could have made it to St Sarisa in minutes, but I didn't. I admit that when I first met you, I might have had fewer qualms about allowing you to die for me. But once I got to know you, I changed my mind. Believe me, I've changed since I've travelled with you, and that's why I know you'll continue to protect me!" Harlain exclaimed

"And why might that be?" Benedict growled. "Because…" Harlain replied "Because what the Seekers of Justice say about m father is true. He is a fool and a poor ruler. But I would not allow myself to become the same. After what I've seen, I would strive to let our country become a great kingdom as it once was. This is why I know you'll follow me to Calradia, because you want a great and peaceful kingdom as much as I do, and if I die, the Seekers will take control. For all their airs of goodness and valour, they are led by a man who seeks only to gain for himself. He is a rich noble, not even of our country! He is the money behind the whole organisation, and I know that he is corrupt, no matter who his followers may be."

There was a long silence, a tangible feeling of tension hung between Benedict and Harlain. Inside, Benedict knew that what Harlain said was true. Something he had said to Robert came back to him, back when he had been teasing Harlain, or Harris, as they had known him at the time. He had told him to leave him alone, reminding Robert that he too had once been a spoilt noble brat once upon a time. Robert had changed for the better, and so had Harlain. Had he to relive the events of the past week again, he would no doubt have acted in an entirely new way. Benedict knew this, and so he nodded to Harlain. "You are right, Harlain. You have changed, and you have atoned for your past actions. I know this now, and I accept to continue protecting you."

August 20th: Episode 32

Harlain's eyes clouded over briefly, and he stood and clasped Benedict's hands. "I knew you would Benedict." He said proudly. Then he stood back and walked over to the other end of the room, picking up a package of cloth that had previously remained unnoticed. "I asked at the fort's armoury for this" he said, unwrapping the package, revealing a glimmer of bright metal. It was a suit of armour, emblazoned with the coat of arms of the royal family of Harlaushia. The whole thing was beautiful, finely crafted and light as chain mail. The colours were of deep green laced with golden edges and joints, two pauldrons shaped like small wings jutted out from the main torso, small feathers and creases, etched into the metal, adorned them.

Finally, out of the cloth, Harlain produces a spear, a deep green and gold, two wing shaped blades jutted out at either side of the main head, shaped again like a pair of wings. The main point was a long leaf shaped piece of steel, razor sharp and gleaming in a pure and simple steel grey. "This," Harlain pronounced "Is the armour and weapon of a royal protector of Harlaushia!"

Benedict stood, open mouthed, gazing in wonder at the finely crafted gift he was being presented with. There was no doubt that the worth of this armour was more than all his worldly possessions put together. "Harlain" he breathed "this is…" he closed his mouth, giving up trying to express the enormity of the gift, and simply lifted the armour on, ignoring the dying pain of his wound. It fit him like a glove; the breastplate was just tight enough to allow freedom of movement and maximal protection. The greaves left two slight gaps where his knees were, covering the rest of his legs comfortably and the firm leather straps covered his calf muscles well enough to provide protection.

He lifted the pauldrons and clicked them into place over his shoulders. They jutted out like a general's insignia. Proud wings of Harlaushia! The helmet was softly padded inside, resistant to shock, and sat around his ears, a thin bar of metal hanging down over his nose, protecting it. From the sides of the helmet came another pair of wings over his ears.

Finally, he picked up the spear. It was light and easy to handle, lighter than the pure iron affair he had received from the academy. The blades of the wings shone like those of an angel, the leaf that crowned it all was sharp enough to pierce steel, Benedict felt sure. He lifted it to his shoulder, a poor imitation of a military salute. "Prince Harlain" he grinned "I live only to serve my country!" Then he smiled at his friend. "I don't suppose you'd like to practice?"

Harlain raised an eyebrow. "You'd end up cutting off my head, some Royal Protector you'd be then." He stood up, kicking the stool backwards. "Now, since you seem to be able to walk, let's see what the situation is outside." They walked out of the building, thanking the healer as they left.

The sky was murky with the smoke, but it was undeniably blue. Benedict fancied that, had they not been in such a windy area, it would have been uncomfortably warm in his armour. As they walked along the streets of St Sarisa however, people were wrapped warmly against the strong wind of the steppes. These people bowed respectfully as they passed, impressed by the well known armour that Benedict sported.

They approached a barracks, nestled in a niche beneath the walls of the city. By the door, a tall and proud captain stood to attention. "My lord" he said to Harlain, saluting proudly. "Protector" he saluted Benedict.

"Protector?" he thought, "I have a rank and I didn't even know it!" Outwardly unmoved however, Benedict merely nodded his head to the man. "Captain"

Harlain moved straight to business. "Dispense with the pleasantries Captain Gardo. We wish to know of the situation outside the walls, what happened to the men following us?" The Captain looked taken aback for a moment, and then he stood at ease, his hand stroking a tight blond beard. "They left Sire, as soon as the gates closed. We have no idea who they are or why they were following you. Our best guess is that they were bandits who somehow knew who you were and hoped to ransom you." He said all this with proper military coldness, his face remaining passive the whole time.

A face which, Benedict realised, was barely three years older than his own. "He may be older than me" Benedict thought with a twinge of pride "But I have a higher rank!" Harlain was speaking again, Benedict listened. "… we request an escort to take us to Vaegir territories. We fear those bandits may simply be waiting in ambush out of sight of the city." The captain nodded curtly "Of course Sire, I shall organise it at once."

August 22nd: Episode 33

The men were all dressed in uniform green, well trained veteran soldiers of the Harlaushian twenty-first regiment. Most held spears, un-decorative and businesslike sticks with spikes. Benedict recognised a couple of faces that had been waiting for him, spears up, at the town gates when he and Harlain had made their entrance. He smiled at them, certain that they would recognise him through his armour.

He and Harlain were walking down the line of men, nodding to each and every saluting soldier who would be escorting them. There were about sixty in all, twenty crossbowmen and forty spearmen. At the end of the line stood Captain Ralein Gardo. He was, Benedict learned later, another noble, given his position as a tribute to his family for their service. Excelling in the tactical, he had been moved to the border fort where he saw action nearly every other week with bandits and Khergit raiders constantly harassing caravans.

But he was still pleased to leave the fort. "Fighting bandits gets a little boring after a while." He confessed "They all have the same equipment, same strategy and same numbers of men. It's a good week if we find a party of Khergits or bandits with more than thirty fighters." He shook his head, emphasising what a sad and boring life it was, having only to order sixty deaths a month then he lead Benedict and Harlain over to a trio of horses. "These will be for your use Sire." He said gravely. Then he walked away to talk to his men.

"Harlain?" Benedict said "there are three horses here." He looked at him suspiciously. "Normal!" said a voice from behind one of them. Ada walked out, dressed in new travelling clothes. "You weren't going to make me walk were you?" Benedict's mouth dropped open. "Ada… I thought you… I" he shook his head "No way! You're staying here until we get back. I am not letting you come along with us. Not for all the titles and money in Calradia!"

She laughed sweetly. "Some protector you are! I shouldn't worry too much to be honest. We have an escort of sixty soldiers and the prince himself to keep the bad guys away. If you can't protect me, I'm sure they will." She was teasing of course, Benedict knew that. But the words stung a momentarily forgotten wound. The dream-corpses, accusing him; demanding to know why they didn't protect him. He pushed them to the back of his mind, knowing he would have enough time to consider them in his sleep.

Far away, in a room overlooking the capital of Harlaushia, two men sat together. Faenris spoke angrily "They got away again. We just received word from the men we hired. The prince got into St Sarisa and is protected by the garrison." The man across the table shook his head.

"That is not a problem. They will not stay there long. If I remember correctly, the only way the prince can hope to gain any significant support is by reaching the Vaegir capital. If we stop him before he reaches it, we can complete our great mission and bring the people to a new age of prosperity."

Faenris shook his head, impatient at this man's manic talk of justice and prosperity. All he wanted was to get rid of this damned fool of a king. "I fear that may not be so simple. He had now revealed himself as the prince. He will no doubt request a sizable escort and…" he was cut off.

"St Sarisa? Wait a moment Faenris. If I remember correctly, we have…" he picked up a sheet of parchment and studied it "Ah yes! We have an ally in that town. A military man too. Perhaps it could be arranged for him to be part of the garrison? Surely that would not be too difficult a task for him, I gather he is quite competent."

Faenris nodded "Very well Sir. I shall contact him before tomorrow."

August 22nd: Episode 34

Smoke trailed in the air, a familiar sight after the three days they had spent in the steppes. Captain Ralein was leading them on a direct route to Vaegir territories. It was surprising decision on his part. The steppes were plagues by vast numbers of Khergit raiders who rarely failed to intercept any group moving through their lands.

The Vaegirs fought hard to put a stop to the situation, but the war with Swadia was diverting their resources and bandits roamed free. The Swadians, seeking to profit from this situation, encouraged bandit activity by chasing caravans into the steppes then leaving them to their fate. Also, it was rumoured, large sums of money were leaked to the Khergit leaders in their hidden capital, funding raids on Vaegir lands.

It was through this deathtrap of feuding Khergit lords and helpless merchants seeking to profit off a shorter route that Benedict and his party were led.

He was unworried, feeling reassured by the large numbers of able men about him, as well as the fine armour that covered him during the day. On top of this general feeling of safety was the presence of Ada. He had found himself catching up on the lost years between them, discussing their new lives and new interests on the road.

One thing had not changed, that was certain, Ada was more than just a friend to him. Harlain too was finding her an agreeable person, and they had been spending time together, the three of them, along with Captain Ralein around the campfire at night.

It was one such night, their third after leaving St Sarisa that Benedict noticed the absence of their captain. He stood up uneasily dismissing the querying look from Ada with a wave of his hand. "I'll be right back" he announced, slipping off through the hastily erected tents of the soldiers. Most of them were sleeping, their snores audible above the chirping of insects. Behind the noise however, Benedict heard hushed voices.

He inched forwards, searching for the source of the noise, an unsettling feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. Snatches of sentences reached his ears. "Tomorrow… the prince will…" and then "Never sleeps… how…chance" Benedict frowned. Was someone talking about him? Surely not, there could be any number of soldiers with them who could not sleep, why would anyone know about his insomnia?

He crept further towards the noise and froze in the shadow of a tent opening. A figure was walking quietly through the campsite. White hair gleaming on his head, two scimitars shining on his back. Faenris.

"Stop!" Benedict roared, running out of the shadows, realising only as he began to run that he had no weapon on him. He was lucky though, Faenris turned his gaze on him and smiled "We do not fight today my friend. Perhaps another time." Then he turned and sprinted from the camp, merely a blur by the time he reached the edge.

I'm no friend of yours!" Benedict shouted. But his words were heard only by the woken soldiers.

August 23rd: Episode 35

Dawn came swiftly, piercing the chill of the night with an uncomfortable heat. A feeling of unease had settled over the happiness that Benedict had felt at first. How did Faenris get into the camp unnoticed? That was stupid, he was a master of combat, it was not surprising that he could be stealthy too.

So who was he talking with? A member of the Seekers? Benedict shook his head and decided to remain alert. It was senseless to cause his friends worry, he would watch out alone.

Harlain had picked up some of his unease and was silent and alert himself, sensing the discomfort his friend harboured. Ada however remained oblivious to the whole affair, staying her normal cheerful self. It helped Benedict to hear her talking and laughing, and he gradually eased up. No one would try anything with sixty armed soldiers watching. Even if one of them was a traitor, they would have to act at night, and since he didn't sleep…

His thoughts were interrupted by a horn blast. His eyes snapped upwards in time to see a cloud of dust on the horizon. "Khergits!" shouted the lookout. Benedict frowned and shouldered his spear. Harlain slid his rapier out of its sheath and they walked to Captain Ralein.

"What's going on?" they demanded. "We've sighted Khergits. A huge party! I didn't think they got so numerous…" The Captain trailed off and turned away. "My prince, you are our priority, we must flee. The soldiers will hold off the attack until we are away." His face was grim, but the soldiers who heard him barely moved a muscle. They accepted their fate. It was time to die.

Their horses were ready, as always, and they mounted quickly. Benedict gripped his spear like a lifeline, trying to forget the faces of those soldiers. He knew it was useless, they would haunt his dreams like all the others.

The cloud approached swiftly, revealing over a hundred steppe warriors, all screaming and roaring. By the time the reached the Harlaushian infantry, Benedict and Harlain were already out of sight.

The combat was bloody and dusty. The earth drank the fluids that spattered it thirstily, as if the rains had come early. The horses screamed so loudly that the sounds reached the ears of the fleeing four. The soldiers of Harlaushia stood bravely, spears levelled. The combat was even and once the momentum of the charge had lost its effect, it looked like it was going to last a while.

But Benedict was unconscious of all this, focussing instead on riding at a swift canter away from the site of the battle, ever southwards. It was evening when they stopped by a small pool of stagnant water. Their horses parched and tired, their clothes sticky with sweat. Benedict turned back to the trail they had followed. "I can't believe they did that. They sacrificed themselves for…"

"For me" Harlain interceded "And I intend to make their sacrifice worthwhile. We will rest here and continue tomorrow. Those men were agents of the Seekers, no doubt. Why else would they attack an armed war party? It makes no sense otherwise."

"The Seekers, what are you talking about Sire?" Ralein asked. Harlain sat down tiredly. "I'll explain" he began.


	8. Chapter 8

Ok, we're approaching the final chapter now, which consists of only two episodes, but is probably about as long as all the other chapters. Anyway, towards the end of this chapter I found I could be bothered to write again, so the story might pick up a little, but to be honest I can't remember too much. Anyway, hope you enjoy this penultimate chapter, please R&R and thanks a lot.

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August 24th: Episode 36

It was midday when they saw the first pursuers. Benedict had spent a restless night torn between braving his dreams and getting some rest and staying watch. When he finally slept, he awoke an hour later from visions of blood and death to see Ralein standing up, sword drawn.

Upon asking what the problem was, Ralein replied that he had heard something moving, and had worried for the Prince's safety. Benedict remained vigilant for the rest of the night. When morning came he felt more tired than he had ever been in his life. But he force himself into the saddle and set off at sunrise like his friends.

After hours of riding, they sighted the first followers. They were undoubtedly Khergits from the speed of the dust cloud. But there were evidently very few of them, barely ten, judging by the noise and amount of dust they kicked up. At first they attempted to flee, rushing over the hills and valleys as fast as they could. But it was soon obvious that there was nowhere to run to.

Benedict stopped his horse suddenly and called to his friends to do so. "We will fight them" he said simply, and they all agreed. Turning, they waited silently for their attackers.

Benedict was secretly glad for a little action, the adrenaline was pushing his tiredness away and letting him regain a semblance of wakefulness. He sat astride his horse patiently, relishing the rush and preparing himself. When their attackers reached them, he was ready. He urged his horse forwards, bursting ahead of his companions, and levelled his spear.

The tip sank deeply into the stomach of the first rider he met, sending him flying backwards. His spear was still in his grip as the corpse slid off. He swung it in a wide arc, meeting the next enemy with one of its wings, slicing his shoulder through and pushing him too to the ground.

He was joined by Harlain and Ralein. Harlain on horseback, rapier flashing, Ralein on foot. Another two fell before them, and the rest wheeled around and regrouped. They charged as one, using their superior numbers to try and force Benedict and his friends on the defensive. But Ralein was adept at taking down Khergits, and Benedict and Harlain both met them evenly and readily.

Another three of them fell in bloody heaps on the ground. But Harlain did not escape unscathed. His horse fell below him from a sabre swipe, and he fell unconscious to the ground. Ralein stood over him, daring anyone to try and get near. But the Khergits ignored him. They had spotted easier prey, Ada.

They galloped towards her, swords swinging and battle shouts ringing in the air. Benedict barely had time to spur his horse forwards before they had reached her.

August 25th: Episode 37

"Ada! Aaaaddaaa!" he screamed, an animal shout born of desperation as his horse flew towards her. She jumped off her horse and avoided a first slash, but the three were turning around, heading back to her. The first one raised his sword again and brought it down in an arc. Ada had no way to dodge it.

The rider only stopped his attack when he realised that a spear was protruding from his chest, two wings sprouting from either side, stained with blood. He crumpled with a gurgling cry, and Ada ducked beneath her horse, out of danger. She was joined moments later by Benedict, his chest heaving as he leapt from his horse and landed beside her. He plucked his spear up and faced the remaining two Khergits.

Jumping aside as they rode past, he swiped one of them off his horse and crushed his skull with a kick and barely looking down, he stabbed the second one's horse in the neck. It rolled over as it hit the ground, leaving its rider weaponless on the floor. He scrambled to pick up his sword, but a booted foot stopped him.

Looking upwards, he saw a young man, clad in brilliant green armour holding a spear above his head. Then he saw no more, as the spear slammed into his face and ended his life.

"Ada! Are you alright?" Benedict cried, dropping his spear. He stepped over to where she was, huddled beneath her horse and lifted her gently to her feet. "Thank goodness, you're not hurt…" he muttered, his eyes filling with tears of relief.

Ralein reached them, Harlain's limp form held in his arms. "That was amazing! You just killed three Khergits alone on foot! My best soldiers have trouble facing one!"

Benedict ignored him. His eyes were held in Ada's, staring into her soul like she was all that he had left. "I… I could have lost you…" he whispered to her.

"But you didn't. You were there for me. Benedict, thank you, you really did protect me." She said. And in that moment, Benedict forgot all his pains, seeing only her relief, knowing only that he had saved her, knowing that he loved her.

"Ada" he said helplessly. Then he kissed her, holding her close to him despite the sticky heat of battle and the steppes. She responded to him, putting her arms around his waist and pulling him even closer towards her. It was a moment that they held tight, as if to let it go would be to return to the grim reality of their adventure. But it lasted for a long time, holding off the thoughts and pains of their life until Ralein gently placed a hand on Benedict shoulder.

"I regret having to interrupt you, but Harlain is still unconscious." Benedict sighed and held Ada's hand in his. "A…alright" he said, his heart beating in his chest, faster than it ever had in battle.

August 26th: Episode 38

Harlain's horse was dead, killed by a sword through the neck. Harlain himself was only marginally better off, his head had sustained a large shock and he had been squashed by the falling horse. He would live, Benedict was almost certain, but his wounds were severe.

They decided to rest for a couple of days in order to let Harlain recuperate. Swapping their tired horses for the sturdier and swifter beasts that the Khergits rode, they made camp in a large rock formation at the base of a hill. A muddy stream flowed through it and it was shaded from the worst of the sun.

As night fell, covering the steppes like a blanket, Benedict sat up a way from the camp, staying watch. He shivered from the cold, tightening the straps of his armour and stamping his feet. He paused for a moment, hearing a sound behind him. Turning slowly, he saw Ada standing there. "What's wrong?" he asked

"Nothing. I just wanted to talk to you." She whispered back, sitting down beside him. He put his arm around her and they looked up at the stars. They sparkled, clear and bright, each on blazing like a tiny jewel in firelight. A single light shot across the blackness in between, a shooting star.

"Make a wish" Benedict laughed, remembering his childhood, when he had truly believed that a wish upon a star would come true. Ada turned her face to him, her skin pale in the soft light of the moon. "I don't need to make a wish; I already have everything I could possibly want." She smiled back.

"That's such a cheesy line for anyone to be saying" Benedict grinned. Then they said no more, as Ada wrapped her arms around him and they lay down together beneath the stars, giving way to their love for each other, pushing back the cold of the night.

Dawn came swiftly; the sun rose over the flat horizon and pierced the mist of dust that was kicked up by the night winds. Benedict woke gently, memories of his night with Ada coming softly into his mind. It had been a night free of dreams and nightmares, his first night of peaceful sleep in weeks. He picked up a piece of his armour and strapped it on, picking up the rest as he walked. "Ralein" he called "How's Harlain doing?" his cry echoed across the steppe, reflected by low lying hills.

The echo was his only reply. "Ralein?" he called again, wondering why no one was responding. He walked faster, reaching the place where their horses were but still finding no sign of life. He reached the camp, something gnawing at the back of his mind. Someone was lying there at least, it looked like Harlain. But where were Ada and Captain Ralein?

Scanning the horizon, he saw a fine trail of dust far in the distance, heading north. Benedict squinted hard, his heart racing. What on earth was Ralein doing? Was Ada with him? He ran to where Harlain was lying, only to find him in a pool of blood, a sword sticking straight through his skull.

August 27th: Episode 39

His whole body went numb. Harlain was dead. Dead like Robert. A slow and creeping warmth began to tickle the bottom of his stomach, thawing the icy cold that gripped him. It took a moment to realise what it was, but soon the unmistakeable feeling of burning anger had him shaking. He ignored the dead body of his friend, seeing only the thin line of dust on the horizon. Some day he would return to bury the body, until then, Captain Ralein was all that mattered.

He ran to the horses, pausing only to pick up his spear and tie on his last plate of armour. Mounting the fastest one, he grabbed the reins of another, a steppe horse, who would replace his current one once it got tired… no, once he killed it from exhaustion!

He slapped its neck, forcing it into a canter and then a gallop, the need for revenge gnawed at him like a craving. He felt like he could have run faster than his horse if it meant that he could catch up to Ralein.

Time passed like the hills of the steppes, pouring behind him as his horses smashed the ground with their speed. It was only midday when his first horse collapsed with fatigue; sending him sprawling to the floor. He got to his knees and squinted through the haze of dust around him. He was catching up! He had perhaps halved the distance between them now.

He stood up and shook of the dust, ignoring his bruises. Slicing the rope that had held his spare horse to his now dead one, he mounted it and continued his ride, focusing only on the burning need for revenge that drove him. His thoughts had slowly come together as he rode. Ada, who he had at first worried about leaving behind, was in fact with Ralein. For some reason he had taken her with him, perhaps to lure Benedict after him. In any case, it was an advantage since it was obviously slowing him down.

His second horse was much hardier, being of steppe breed. It went on at a steady pace; neither slowing down nor speeding up. When night fell, he slept in the saddle, his sleep again dreamless, as if saving Ada had atoned for his past failures.

When the sun rose, Benedict was already awake. Having found his horse slowing to a trot, he forced it to speed up angrily, cursing himself for falling asleep and letting it rest. He was no longer catching up with Ralein, simply keeping pace. Then at some time during the evening, the trail of dust suddenly stopped.

It took Benedict a while to notice it, but when he did he felt a surge of triumph. Has Ralein's horse died? Had he foolishly set up camp? It took him only an hour to reach the place where he guessed the trail had ended.

Sur enough, there was a campfire crackling in a small valley, two shapes were huddled next to it. One, standing up tall and proud, was unmistakeably Captain Ralein's. The other was lain on the floor like a sack, as Benedict approached, he made out Ada's features.

His anger flared again as he saw that she was tied up unceremoniously. Abandoning all semblance of stealth, he charged down the hill on foot, spear raised like a battering ram, heading straight for Ralein. "Pay you bastard!" he roared as he approached. Ralein neatly sidestepped his attack and suddenly there were a dozen people all around him, bursting out from camouflaged positions. He ran to meet them, but his weapon was dragged form him, and something hit him on the head, sending him into a deep dark unconciousness.

August 28th: Episode 40

Benedict awoke to the feeling of pain. His back was bent in an awkward position, his hands and legs were bound tightly and his head throbbed like the devil himself was inside it. He opened his eyes cautiously, grateful for the fact that it was night time and the light was low. They were moving over the steppes, his mysterious captors, at a steady pace.

Turning around, he found that he had a certain freedom of movement, enough to get into a more comfortable position, but not enough to contemplate any kind of escape. He was in a wagon, pulled by two horses; it was encircled by a dozen riders, all wearing steppe clothing and wielding scimitars and bows. He concluded that these were Khergits, and wondered what dry remark Robert would have made to that brilliant summation.

To his left, just out of his field of vision, lay another form. He was, frustratingly, unable to turn his head far enough to see who it was, but he guessed it was Ada. So they were still alive, both of them, and both captured. It made sense, he realised. The Seekers did not kill those who were not in their way, at least not deliberately; it was normal that they should have been captured rather than killed.

So why had they been captured? He had no way to answer that question. Perhaps they were considered a danger due to their knowledge of the Seekers. But then why had they not simply captured him back at the camp? It made no sense to him, and the throbbing of his head was making it extremely hard to think. He fell back into unconsciousness again, leaving the painful reality for an all encompassing darkness.

Days passed, they travelled through the steppe, then through the woodlands and finally through the farmland that covered the heart of Harlaushia. After a week of travel, during which Benedict had confirmed that Ada was indeed the other prisoner, they reached the capital city. Entering through the sewers, presumably to avoid notice, Benedict was forced to walk for the first time in a week. At first, he simply fell over as the blood burnt through his feet like hot iron. But his captors were without pity, and he was pushed along every time he stumbled until his feet finally began to feel normal again.

They walked through dark tunnels and through streams of filthy water until they came to a series of underground chambers. Ralein stopped in front of a heavily built door and knocked in a pattern that was probably some sort of password. The door swung open, and they were admitted into the base of the Seekers.

It was a maze of hidden rooms and corridors, furniture was dotted about and people walked here and there carrying messages or scrolls. "It isn't usually this busy" Ralein said casually to Benedict, the first time he had spoken to him in days, "There's a lot going on at the moment though. We've managed to assassinate the king so the whole country's in turmoil. We're having a little more trouble than we expected to put our men in power, but the nobility are already signing contracts and selling off their titles."

He said it like it was an everyday matter, as if the price of bread had gone up or something. Benedict refused to answer him, and simply glared as nastily as he could at Ralein's back until they reached an area that was some sort of prison block and they were thrown into a cell.


End file.
